The Blood of a Cannibal
by MarauderMooney
Summary: NOT ABANDONED BUT CURRENTLY SUSPENDED What if Clarice and Hannibal weren't actually meant for each other and it is the good doctor's son, that's right SON, who wins her heart? This story continues where the movie leaves off and stretches to present day.
1. A New Factor in the Hannibal Lecter Case

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 1 "A New Factor in the Case of 'Hannibal the Cannibal'"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Summary: What if Clarice and Hannibal weren't actually meant for each other and it is the good doctor's son, that's right, _son_, who wins her heart? This story continues where the movie _Hannibal_ leaves off and stretches to present day.  
  
Rated: R, I have this rating posted because the story could very well turn graphic and horrific, especially since this story contains a cannibal.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the names nor the characters of any one mentioned in here except for the original character of Dr. Lecter's son. This story belongs to the great and talented Thomas Harris and all those who were able to bring our favorite cannibal to the big screen so successfully. Please don't sue me, it's neither worth the time nor the effort. You can get nothing from me, for I am a poor college student.  
  
Author's Notes: I had this idea in the back of my mind for some time now and thought that since I all ready write fan fiction for _The X-Files_ , I thought I might as well write for another favorite story of mine.  
  
Feedback: Please do, it's the only thing I can look forward to since I can't get paid. You can also find my other works here at fanfiction.net.  
  
* * *  
  
Clarice Starling looked up to the night sky. Off in the distance the Fourth of July fireworks display had begun. She could hear the whistle of the rocket as it raced into the sky and then burst into flames in a display. At that moment she could recall the words Dr. Hannibal Lecter had just spoken to her:  
  
"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me: 'Stop, if you love me, you'd stop'?"  
  
"Not in a thousand years." She heard herself answer. But was that really her? Was that her voice telling him no? Or was it the morphine? Perhaps it may have even been the sudden disgust and fear that had taken hold of her upon witnessing her enemy's brain being sautéed and served to him as if it were a buttery mushroom.  
  
Then there was that kiss. Deep and filled with passion. Dr. Lecter was most certainly a devil for no angel could kiss like that. But still there was something lacking in that kiss. The deep, heated passion was only from him, not for her. Were her defenses and fear of this man still up? No. She knew that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to harm her. Even with the cleaver raised above his head, she knew that terrible force he would let out would be directed at his own person, never hers. But still.  
  
Could he have been wrong about their destiny? Was it possible that he was wrong? That although he was obviously in love with her, she could not feel same for him? She looked through the bars of his plight, and only saw a monster?  
  
She wondered if that had occurred to him too.  
  
The police searched the house, found Krendler in his butchered state, the disembodied hand, the nicely arranged dinner table that still waited inside. Everything was there, except for Dr. Lecter.  
  
Special Agent Pearsall arrived an hour later, he was glad to see Starling still alive, he didn't even mention the horrors he had found at Mason Verger's Muskrat Farms. After the ordeal she had just been through, he wasn't even going to accuse her of disobeying his orders to stay away from the case.  
  
Starling sat on the bottom step with a deputies' coat draped over her. Her elbows rested on her thighs and her arms supported her head that was hunched on her fists. Pearsall slowly walked over to her and shuffled his feet.  
  
"Paul's dead."  
  
"He wouldn't have survived." She said softly. "An infection would have set in sooner or later."  
  
"It looked like Lecter was making an effort to clean up in there before he got away, he dumped some of the stuff in Paul's brain, dirty dish rag." Pearsall cleared his throat. "It looks like you put up a fight in there, got the handcuffs on him, attached them to-"  
  
"Myself." She looked up at him. "I handcuffed him to myself."  
  
"He could have killed you, Starling."  
  
"No he wouldn't have." She shook her head and stood up, her balance was back. The morphine had finally worn off. "He cut off his own wrist, he could have easily cut off mine."  
  
"But he didn't." Pearsall said that more to himself than to her.  
  
"Nope." She walked into the living room to sit on the sofa.  
  
"Any ideas as to where he's gone?" Pearsall joined her.  
  
"None." She sighed. "He won't be able to go back to Florence, although I'm sure that hurts him a bit. He'll go anywhere where he isn't wanted with an outstanding arrest. Posting flyers in the airports might help, they might not. He'll blend in."  
  
"Even with a missing hand?"  
  
"Definitely." She nodded. "He'll probably work on getting a prosthetic limb as soon as he can. My best bet is that he's got a few phony documents already made out for his escape into another country by now. He had been in the United States since Pazzi's death. That's two months without anyone noticing."  
  
"Still, it would be more difficult now that he's injured. How ever he decides to mask it, he can't hide that he's missing a limb."  
  
Starling nodded but didn't say anything. Still she doubted that he would be so easily caught. She decided to let Pearsall and the others have their confidence, anything to make them sleep better at night. Starling knew that she was going to sleep well though, Dr. Lecter wasn't going to pay her an unexpected house call any time soon.  
  
* * *  
  
The events that lead to Starling's return to the FBI happened within a month. Mason Verger was linked to depositing $500,000 into Paul Krendler's bank account, the large sum of money was deposited just before his death. Found at Verger's mansion were documents were found that helped get the boars and their deceased owners brought into the country from Sardinia as well as dictated plans for the demise of Dr. Hannibal Lecter once he was under Verger's captivity. Verger's former personal physician, Cordell Doemling, attested to the police and the press that Dr. Lecter was responsible for Verger's death by pushing him into the pen, then taking off with the unconscious Starling. The end of the ordeal added one more name to Dr. Lecter's victims list.  
  
It made for a juicy story to the press, Dr. Lecter came back to kill his only surviving victim who had been plotting revenge. Then he kills one of the leading authorities in the Lecter manhunt while kidnapping the other to inflict future "horrors" as the papers wrote.  
  
To ensure Starling's immediate reinstatement to her FBI duties, Cordell personally exonerated Starling to Pearsall and Assistant Director Noonan that Verger had written the postcard and delivered it to Krendler to get Starling out of active duty. As promised, Starling was returned to active duty without prejudice. In the first few weeks, Starling was forced to dodge the press on her way in and out of the J. Edgar Hoover building from those who wanted the inside scoop on her dinner with Dr. Lecter.  
  
The reunion between Starling and Dr. Lecter expunged her previous record with the press and the one responsible for the fish market fiasco. It took the press weeks to finally let up on their pursuit of Starling, realizing that she was not going to address any of their questions. She never ever gave her superiors the full story as to what had happened to her that evening.  
  
Thinking in her best interest, Pearsall tried to get Starling removed from the manhunt for Dr. Lecter, but she refused. The "Hannibal House" became her official office.  
  
She wasn't sure why she wanted to stay there. She rationalized that it was in Dr. Lecter's best interest if it were she who apprehended him. She had told him that she had no wish to kill him. She just wanted him to be behind bars.  
  
Then again, maybe she wanted to remain there to continue Jack Crawford's work. He was gone now and it was he and Will Graham who had apprehended Dr. Lecter in the first place, perhaps she felt like she owned something to Crawford. Another reason might have been that Starling enjoyed the case, but knowing full well that she might never catch him alive. Still another reason, and the most logical reason, was that by staying in the manhunt for Dr. Lecter, Starling would be too busy to be asked to join in a field operation. One more blow to her career would sink her.  
  
Leads were coming in from all over Europe. Several customs agents called in to the FBI identifying him as boarding a plane from Kennedy to Heathrow and from Heathrow towards Hong Kong. Customs throughout China didn't even bother searching for Dr. Lecter but promised to keep a look out from now on. By Christmas, all the leads had dried up. Nothing new was coming in.  
  
Starling spent most of her working days in her basement, rooting through profiles and airport surveillance videos. She did get a call from Florence that Inspector Renaldo Pazzi's widow had received several bouquets of red roses delivered to her door by an unseen messenger in the weeks before Thanksgiving. None of them had a note except for the last one which contained a pen sketch of Pazzi hanging from the Palazzo Vecchio alongside his naked ancestor with a quote from Dante's _Inferno_ made by Pier della Vigna as he hung from a bleeding tree. The handwritten note was signed "Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case, H."  
  
Upon receiving the note, Starling handed it over for fingerprint analysis which confirmed that it had been written by Dr. Lecter. Starling wasn't at all surprised, but rather glad to see that he had not lost his sense of humor along with his hand. Although she did wonder how he was coping to not being able to play the piano any longer.  
  
* * *  
  
Three days before Christmas, Starling had finished her day early and went directly home. She lied down on her sofa with a glass of scotch by her side. The television and radio was of no interest to her at the moment and she decided to lay in the quiet of her apartment for a few moments. Her mind was quiet, clear of any work related clutter. The day before she had decided on searching through his past to further her search for him in the present. Her search would be centered on the people and places from the years before his incarceration that would offer any insight as to where he might have gone.  
  
Now as she sat alone in her own home for an evening's rest, she was drifting off to sleep when the high pitched ring of her cell phone caught her attention. It sat next to her on her coffee table. She reached for it and answered sleepily.  
  
"Starling, this is Pearsall, I need you to get down here right away."  
  
"Why? Has something happened?" she reached for her shoes and slipped them on as she grabbed her keys.  
  
"We've been searching through all of Lecter's old files that he's had stored in the Yourself storage facility, there were a few files here he kept locked up that the police didn't find before his arrest."  
  
"Old files? On his former patients?"  
  
"On his family."  
  
Starling was out the door and half way to her car at this point. "Brothers and sisters right?"  
  
"No, Starling. On his wife and son."  
  
* * *  
  
More on the way. Let me know what you think so far. Yes, I am aware that Starling and Lecter are in love with each other, but come on guys, just pretend will ya? 


	2. It's A Boy

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 2 "It's A Boy"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Summery and Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
Rating: R, it's still mild at this point, but you never know.  
  
Feedback: Always welcome. The more the merrier.  
  
Author's Notes: The pervious chapter was a brief recap of the last encounter between Starling and Lecter, as well as all the events that get this actually story set in motion. So without further delay.  
  
* * *  
  
Rushing into her office, affectionately nicknamed "Hannibal House" by her peers at the J. Edgar Hoover Building, Clarice Starling found Special Agent Pearsall already waiting with a stack of newly uncovered files.  
  
"We found these in the Yourself storage facility in downtown Baltimore two hours ago. Lecter's lawyer had just called us this morning letting us know that he had been under instruction not to reveal the existence of these files until he received the go ahead from Lecter."  
  
"For what reason? Why was he holding out?"  
  
"I don't know, his lawyer wouldn't say, but he did receive a letter that he's already turned over to us. It told him to open the files for the first time since Lecter's arrest back in 1982*."  
  
"What's this you said about a family?" Starling plowed through the files laid on her desk. "I never found any record that said he was married."  
  
"There they are." Pearsall pointed to the stack. "Lecter never gave a reason as to why these files should be kept under lock and key, most likely to hide something."  
  
Starling stopped and looked up at him. "More victims?"  
  
"No." Pearsall shook his head. "We looked through half of these and have already contacted the hospital at Maryland University."  
  
"What for?" she went back looking through the pile.  
  
"To confirm the death of his wife, Ann." He picked up the top file and opened it for her.  
  
"Annabelle Harrington, born in Dublin, Ireland in 1958. Moved to the United States after being accepted into the University of Maryland in 1976, she majored in Psychiatry. It says nothing in here about her son or her death." She looked up to Pearsall.  
  
"She died in 1980, complications during child birth. Their son did survive, I'm hoping one of those files contains his whereabouts. We need to talk to him Starling, we need to know what he knows about his father. This could bring us an insight into Lecter that no one, not even Crawford, could have even dreamed of." Pearsall sat down in one of the extra chairs.  
  
"I do agree with that, sir, but how do we know that his son isn't already dead?" Starling leaned back in her chair. "He could have killed his own son."  
  
"Of course you're right," Pearsall conceited. "But he could be very much alive and knows exactly where his father is. We still have to try, Starling."  
  
Pearsall's cell phone went off, he excused himself and went into the hallway. Starling looked through the files again.  
  
"Hannibal and Annabelle," she smiled to herself.  
  
Pearsall came back into the room.  
  
"Starling, bring the files, we're headed to Baltimore. The records clerk just called, he found something on Annabelle Lecter."  
  
* * *  
  
Starling and Pearsall were surrounded by files in the record archive at the Maryland University hospital. Pearsall went back to a tall shelf and began pulling folders out to bring back to the stacks in front of Starling who sat Indian style on the floor. Before looking to the fresh stack, she held one up.  
  
"Got it," she slowly stood up, careful of the foot that had fallen asleep. "Annabelle Lecter came into the hospital shortly after her water broke on October 13, 1980 at 5:18 am. She was in labor for five hours before she was wheeled into the delivery room just before 10:20."  
  
"Was Lecter with her?" Pearsall looked over her shoulder to the file.  
  
"He was there, he was still a practicing physician then." She nodded. "Never left her side once, he refused to leave even when the complications began."  
  
"What were the complications? Was it a breech?"  
  
"Doesn't say," Starling shook her head. "There is a doctor of record though, Dr. Lyle Beckett, OBGYN. She gave birth at 10:31 am, and was then pronounced dead at 10:40, nine minutes later." She flipped through the file. "Now what could make her do that?"  
  
"We should talk to Dr. Beckett."  
  
"Did I hear you right? You want to talk to Lyle Beckett?" the records clerk walked over to them with a few more files. "Beckett was dismissed from his duties, his medical license revoked."  
  
"Why?" Starling asked.  
  
"He was drunk while on duty." He pointed to the file in her hand. "He was responsible for not properly taking care of a woman in his charge as she was delivering her child. Responsible for her death."  
  
"Annabelle Lecter." Pearsall said.  
  
"That's the one." The clerk nodded. "She was administered the wrong medications right after she delivered, caused her to go into shock. Her husband was there, he was a doctor too. He took over and tried to save her, she never recovered. Died right there and then."  
  
"Is there a way we can reach him?" Starling asked. "We really need to get in touch with him."  
  
"He died a few months after the accident." Starling and Pearsall looked to each other quickly. "He committed suicide, they found him the next morning in his own bathtub, slashed his wrists."  
  
* * *  
  
Sitting alone in her office, Starling continued to go through Dr. Lecter's files. Finishing another file of tax returns and financial documents, she came across a personal file. Inside was a wedding invitation, she smiled as she read: "Hannibal Lecter and Annabelle Harrington invites one and all to their joining in Matrimony on April 30th, 1979 at three in the afternoon." The invitation was printed on expensive parchment paper in thick black ink.  
  
The next item was a photograph of Dr. Lecter and his bride running down the aisle together. Both were moving too fast to clearly make out their faces, but she knew it was him. The last two items were a birth announcement and a program from Annabelle's funeral. She glanced through it and then turned to the birth announcement. Dr. Lecter had named his son Jerome Dante.  
  
Keeping the announcement off to the side of her desk, she continued her search through Dr. Lecter's personal files. The next file consisted of names and addresses of his patients typed neatly with a handwritten addition at the bottom of the page: "Will Graham, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D. C."  
  
Continuing to plow through the pile, there were more financial files and a few sketches of a woman whom Starling assumed was the deceased Mrs. Lecter. The sketches were so crude and filled with emotion, each sketch varied in detail that Starling was unable to clearly picture her. She finally came across a file that contained several childish crayon sketches. They were no more than scribbles but had been kept as treasures by a father. Starling was having trouble recognizing Dr. Lecter as such, but he is a father.  
  
Pearsall entered into the office and handed her a coffee.  
  
"Anything?"  
  
"Jerome Dante Lecter," she handed him the birth announcement. "I also found some of his drawings, he probably gets that from his father." She smiled briefly without Pearsall noticing. "Find anything on Beckett?"  
  
"I found the police report, it was a suicide, no doubt about that. The coroner didn't think to perform an autopsy or even a toxicology report." He shrugged.  
  
"So if he was murdered there's nothing to prove it."  
  
"You think Lecter killed him?"  
  
"He once killed an inmate who was imprisoned next to him at Baltimore by making him swallow his own tongue just because he was rude to-"  
  
Starling blushed. Pearsall waited for her to continue. Instead she cleared her throat and changed the subject.  
  
"His wife is dead, she was given the wrong medications, not to mention he was intoxicated. Dr. Lecter isn't one to let something like that go." She shrugged. "His wife is dead."  
  
Pearsall sighed as he thought for a moment. "At least we have a name, we should start searching adoption agencies."  
  
"What about family? Aren't there any brothers or sisters?"  
  
"Not for Lecter," he shook his head.  
  
"What about his wife?" Starling went through the file again.  
  
"Two brothers, Luke and Matthew, they live in the Massachusetts." He nodded. "I'll check it out."  
  
* * *  
  
Luke Harrington slowly answered the door to find Special Agent Clarice Starling standing on his front porch. He looked at her badge quickly and back to her.  
  
"This is about Hannibal isn't it? I recognize the name." He pointed to her badge.  
  
"Yes sir it is, but I was also wondering if I might speak to you about your sister Annabelle?"  
  
"You want to ask about her son," he stood back to let her pass.  
  
"Yes sir I do. Is he here?"  
  
"Was." He nodded. "He's at school now. He hasn't changed his name, shouldn't be too hard to find him. That's what you're here for isn't it?" he was calm in his demeanor and voice. There was a slight, formal, patient smile across his lips.  
  
Luke Harrington was a tall, thin Irish man with black hair and pale blue eyes. His light blue dress shirt was rolled back at the sleeves to reveal muscular arms. He folded them in front of his chest, he may have been intimidating to others, but Starling felt no sense of hostility.  
  
"I wanted to talk to him about his father." She nodded. "We need to find him."  
  
"He'll tell you as much as he knows, but I doubt he would have the first clue as to where his father is."  
  
"Anything he can give us would be more than helpful." She smiled softly. "I sure would appreciate it."  
  
Harrington nodded. "Boston College, he lives on campus, I'm not sure which resident house."  
  
"Can I ask you a few questions before I go, sir? How well did you know your brother-in-law?"  
  
"Hannibal? I knew him a bit, not much though. I was still in Ireland when they got married. Ann was the oldest of us three, she and Hannibal were married for almost a year when I moved here. Then she passed away," he looked down. "Jerome spent a lot of time with me and my brother, Matthew, and his grandmother. His father was always there for him of course, and then he was arrested."  
  
"Who took Jerome when his father was incarcerated?"  
  
"I did," his smile broadened slightly. "Raised the boy with my wife. We always considered him our own. We decided that it would be best if he didn't know about his father's." he paused, and then smiled. "We decided that Jerome should be protected from all that."  
  
"Did Dr. Lecter ever request to see his son?"  
  
"No. The courts wouldn't have allowed even if he had. Besides, the man locked in that prison was not the man I knew." He shook his head. "I didn't know him well, but I could never imagine him doing such horrible things."  
  
"I know, sir." Starling nodded, thinking of her own doubts she once had. "Thank you for your time, sir." She shook his hand as he led her out.  
  
"Not at all, in fact you could offer Jerome a ride home. We're looking forward to having him here during his Christmas break." Harrington smiled.  
  
* * *  
  
That's it for Chapter 2, there's more coming folks. Stay tuned. By the way, * denotes the year of his imprisonment based on the line Lecter said to Starling in _Silence of the Lambs_: "I've been in this room for eight years now, Clarice. I know they will never let me out while I'm alive." My theory is that the Buffalo Bill case took place in fall of 1990, so therefore 1990 would be the eighth year making 1982 the year of his incarceration. Challenge it if you want to, but it's my story. Feedback welcomed and encouraged.  
  
Thanks to all who have written in so far, I appreciate and welcome the feedback. To all of you who have asked: No, there will be no aliens in this story. Write unto the _The X-Files_ that which belongs in _The X-Files_, and write unto _Hannibal_ that which belongs to the Good Doctor. Dr. Lecter's son is flesh and blood (human blood). Trust me. 


	3. A First Encounter of a Different Nature

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 3 "First Encounter of a Different Nature"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R, although I am well aware that this is still extremely mild. But hey, a lot of good horror movies start off slow before you get to the good stuff.  
  
Disclaimer and Summary: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: Starling comes to meet the flesh and blood of Dr. Lecter, how different will their first encounter be?  
  
* * *  
  
Clarice Starling arrived at the quiet Boston College campus. It had not snowed yet, but the weather had been threatening a start to a long season all afternoon. Normally the campus would be buzzing with life and activity from the students, but with Christmas around the corner and the semester on break until the following month, the campus seemed dead.  
  
Checking with the residence board, Starling found that Jerome Lecter was still on campus but was all ready signed out and ready to go to his uncle's house for Christmas. After checking with several of the students who lived on his floor, she was directed to find him at the practice football field. There she saw him sitting at the top of the bleachers with a sketch pad in hand. At one point he stood to stretch his back and legs and sat down again to resume his sketching.  
  
He was tall with a well-built figure. Athletic, broad shouldered, square-jawed. He looked more like his uncle Luke than his father. Starling crossed the field in her black turtle neck, blue jeans, denim jacket and nice sneakers. Her auburn hair hung limply draped over her shoulder. She stood at the bottom of the bleachers and looked up at him. He didn't seem to notice her and continued to sketch.  
  
"Howdy up there." She waved. "You Jerome Lecter?"  
  
"Baltimore PD or FBI?" he asked without looking up.  
  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
  
"I'm trying to guess which badge you're going to show me. You're either Baltimore PD or an FBI agent." He gave her a brief glance.  
  
Starling smiled and took out her FBI badge and held it up.  
  
"FBI." She said.  
  
"You're here to ask me questions about my father." He closed his sketch pad and leaned forward, his hands laid neatly in his lap.  
  
He had the same aloofness and eerie calmness as his father. Definitely a Lecter.  
  
"Yes, I am." She nodded. "I'm sure you all ready know that he was in the country a while back, he killed one more person-"  
  
"I read that he killed two people."  
  
"We need to know where he is." She avoided his comment.  
  
"To catch him or to kill him?"  
  
"To catch of course."  
  
"Of course." He smiled. His smile was like his father's as well. "I should have known you weren't a police officer, you're too casual."  
  
She looked down to her clothing and then back up to him.  
  
"I could have been undercover."  
  
"No." He shook his head. "You're too casual. Undercover cops who come here at night try too hard to look normal. One can easily see they are wolves among the cattle. You're too natural."  
  
A compliment from a Lecter.  
  
"Cattle?"  
  
"The free range so-called students, many are here to learn and leave the herd, others are here to take a few down with them. Most are bulls in heat." He shrugged.  
  
"Which are you?"  
  
"The cowboy holding the cattle prod." He smiled.  
  
Starling couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"If only there were more like you." She said to him.  
  
It was his turn to laugh.  
  
"If only Hollywood would depict their FBI agents half as charming as you, there would be no need to fear the good agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigations."  
  
He picked up his sketch book and descended down the bleachers. Starling was able to get a good look at him now. He was over six foot, she could tell he was well built, very strong under his black oxford polo shirt, khaki pants and brown leather jacket. He was wearing brown leather shoes, very neat and clean. Just like his father. Both were neat and clean with an air of strength that one should know better not to cross.  
  
His eyes were hazel, greener than anything. His hair was brown and shortly cropped. His jaw line was neatly shaven, she could smell his aftershave, something very nice and hand selected.  
  
"Jerome Lecter," he stretched out his hand to her.  
  
"Clarice Starling." She shook it firmly.  
  
His eyes glazed over a bit, and then he smiled with the sudden recognition.  
  
"Starling, Clarice M." He let go of her hand.  
  
"A fan?"  
  
"Very much so, I've followed your career since your trainee days when you first met my father." He leaned back on his heels a bit. "I'm assuming that's what you've come for."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I have. You don't mind talking about your father do you?"  
  
"Does it bother you that I address him as such?"  
  
Starling smiled. It did.  
  
"In all my time talking with him, he never mentioned that he had a family. It's just something different to adjust to. A different way of seeing Dr. Lecter."  
  
Jerome smiled, he was amused. "Dr. Lecter." He said quietly to himself. "Hard to picture that he is actually capable of being happily married? Being a father for two years while secretly murdering nine people? You should try seeing it from my perspective sometime."  
  
"I meant no offense."  
  
"None taken."  
  
He walked back towards the resident building with Starling at his side. He kept his hands behind his back, clutching the sketch pad and pencils tightly. His pace was relaxed and steady, Starling was glad that both he and his uncle were very casual and pleasant towards the idea of talking about America's most feared and notorious serial killer.  
  
"How well did you know your father?"  
  
"Not at all. He was incarcerated before my second birthday. Even before that I spent more time with my uncles and my grandmother. My mother died shortly after my birth, but you knew that all ready." He smiled at her briefly.  
  
"I'm very sorry about your mother, my mother died when I was young too. I was raised by my father, an only child."  
  
"We're gators of the same swamp, Agent Starling." He nodded. "How did you find out about me?"  
  
"You're father's personal files were opened. No one but your lawyer knew about them."  
  
"He mostly likely never told anyone."  
  
"Any idea why he wouldn't?"  
  
"You're asking the wrong Lecter I'm afraid." He looked over to her. "It's part of his humor, I doubt he would explain it to anyone. He is a man of many mysteries."  
  
"I'll say, we've never been able to figure out a clear reason why he would choose to dine on his victims."  
  
Jerome stopped in his tracks. Starling instantly noticed.  
  
"You never figured it out? Even after having him in custody for eight years?"  
  
"No, why, do you know something?"  
  
"Nothing more than what I can imagine." He shrugged and continued walking.  
  
"I once figured it was to show his contempt for those exasperated him, or to act as a public service."  
  
"You're probably right." He nodded. "My father isn't fond of those he considered rude and boorish."  
  
"You ever visit him? While he was in the Baltimore hospital?"  
  
"Never. My uncles didn't approve, they thought that it would be better for me if I stayed away. I knew very little about him and his crimes."  
  
"Did you ever want to see him?"  
  
"He's my father."  
  
In his dormitory, Jerome finished his packing as he prepared to return home for Christmas. Starling looked around, read the binders of the neatly piled textbooks above his desk. His desk was clean and neatly filed with all his previous semester notes put away in his folder bin. His private library was filled with books of classic literature containing the works of Virgil, Ovid and Homer with a special shelf dedicated to Dante with at least six different translations of the _Inferno_. He also had a vast collection of philosophy books, Marcus Arillius, Aristotle and Socrates to name a few. Starling looked over to him as his was finishing his packing.  
  
"What are you studying?"  
  
"Classical Literature and Theology, I'm also working on a minor in classical music." He didn't look over to her.  
  
Starling went back to looking around, his bed was neatly made. Above the headboard was a large Irish flag that had been pinned to the wall, smoothed to avoid wrinkling. A television set was placed at the opposite side of the bedroom with a small video collection along side in a second book shelf that was a mixture of books, movies and a small collection of DVDs. On the back side of the front door was a British flag stapled with the same care as the Irish one.  
  
"How patriotic of you." She muttered.  
  
"My second home is in Ireland. My uncle Luke and his wife, Dana, and I always going on a yearly vacation to visit the family in Dublin."  
  
Now that they were in doors, Starling could clearly hear a faint Irish accent to his voice, Harrington's was thick and smooth and could easily be mistaken as British.  
  
"Do you think your father could be in Europe?" she looked over to him.  
  
"Possibly." He shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. I've seen some of the coverage done after the massacre at Muskrat Farms, heard a few theories that he was in Asia."  
  
"Do you think they're viable?"  
  
"He's not wanted in Asia." He said simply.  
  
"He's not wanted in Ireland either."  
  
Jerome stopped his packing and smiled at her. "Very good," his tone was exactly like his father's when he had called her the morning of his abduction by Mason Verger's goons.  
  
"Do you think he's in Ireland?"  
  
He didn't answer, only a faint smile.  
  
Starling smiled back. "You wouldn't be holding something back from me now would you?"  
  
"Not at all." He shook his head.  
  
Starling offered him a ride back to his uncle's house two hours from the campus, Jerome graciously accepted. This would make her job easier, ask him more questions and she could be home in time for Christmas. Although, she suspected she wouldn't be completely disappointed if she wasn't home to celebrate another holiday all by herself.  
  
The car ride had been quiet for sometime now. He was fixed on watching the traffic driving by her Mustang, many were in a rush while others were just rude. She glanced over to him and kept her gaze on him longer than she had intended. She looked away before he caught her staring at him. Several moments later, she turned to do it again when he was already waiting for her. He smiled softly, she blushed and looked away.  
  
"See something, Agent Starling?"  
  
"I'm sorry. I just couldn't help thinking-"  
  
"What were you thinking?" she kept her eyes forward. "I can't imagine the answer is written on that bumper sticker in front of you." His tone was just a strong and direct as his father's.  
  
Starling didn't take any offense.  
  
"You look nothing like your father." She looked back to him. "The eyes-"  
  
"Are my mother's." He smiled brightly. "I'm unsure of the rest, I never asked."  
  
The car in the left lane suddenly swerved over in front of Starling almost causing her to run into his rear bumper. The car skidded and then regained control while swerving back into his original lane and sped up. Starling honked her horn angrily as did the other drivers around her. Jerome calmly reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed his pen, he copied down the license plate numbers on the back of his hand and replaced the pen to its rightful pocket.  
  
She smiled at him. "Good idea," she nodded.  
  
"I can call the police when I reach my uncle's house. It's so tragic to think that if he keeps it up, he'll make someone's family less merry this Christmas."  
  
"I'll be damned, a law-biding Lecter." She laughed.  
  
"Not so much for the sake of the law, Agent Starling. I hate rude people, more than that, I hate rude people who get away with their behavior."  
  
Starling looked away. "You may not look like your father, but you sure do sound like him."  
  
"I didn't get that from my father," he shook his head. "Matthew tells me that I'm my mother's son, she hated people too."  
  
"Hated people." She repeated to herself.  
  
"Dad keeps telling me-"  
  
"Your father?" she looked at him.  
  
"My uncle Luke," he paused. "Keeps telling me about my mother's favorite quote," he cleared his throat before imitating a thick Irish accent. "'If I ate every person that either was rude to me or I just out and out despised, I'd be a great big fat woman living in a world with half the population missing.'" He laughed out loud, revealing his sharp white teeth.  
  
Starling didn't smile. "Your uncles tell you a lot about your mother?"  
  
"All that I have of my mother are their memories. You could say that I have to feed off the memories of others for my own."  
  
"They tell you about your father too?"  
  
"Depends on which side you mean."  
  
"Side?"  
  
"You don't really believe that my father has been a serial killer all his life do you? How would he ever have got himself a wife or a son?"  
  
There was a faint trace of a smile across his lips.  
  
"Do you have any memories of your father? That are your own I mean."  
  
"No." He leaned back in his seat. "Like the memories of my mother, the memories I have of my father are dependant upon others."  
  
"Must have been hard, growing up as the son of a-" She decided to keep her thoughts to herself.  
  
"You're just dying to know what it was like for me, aren't you?" he smiled.  
  
"Yes." She nodded.  
  
"You're very frank, Agent Starling."  
  
"Does that bother you?"  
  
"Not at all. In fact, I'd like to be just as blunt if you'll permit me." She nodded. "When you were growing up, could you ever imagine your father doing any wrong?"  
  
"No. My father was my whole world."  
  
"Your hero?"  
  
"Nothing wrong with that."  
  
"Nothing at all, my father was my hero too when I was growing up." She glanced over to him. "You see, when I was growing up, my uncles and aunts never once said anything against my father. Not once. I grew up as the son of a good doctor. Doctors help people, they save lives. Did you know he once saved the life of an eight-year-old girl who almost drowned in her own bathtub? My father was a hero."  
  
"But he was in prison, how did they explain that?"  
  
"They never mentioned anything about a prison, Agent Starling. He was just gone. Like Mom."  
  
"You know about your father now."  
  
"Do you know what my first memory is? I woke up in the middle of the night to a woman screaming, crying hysterically. I snuck out of my crib, came down stairs and found my grandmother wailing in the living room. Luke was there, so were Dana and Matthew, they were all trying to console her. They had just received a phone call, my father had been convicted of murdering nine people. I was three-years-old."  
  
"How old were you when you learned the truth about your father?"  
  
Jerome smiled.  
  
"Ten. I was up late one night watching a monster movie when the news interrupted. They announced that Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter had just escaped from his prison in Memphis, Tennessee. That was the first time I had ever heard anyone refer to my father as Hannibal 'the Cannibal.'  
  
The worst part was that I found out everything about my father while sitting in a library all by myself. I had no family or friends there to comfort me. To explain to me why. I had to read about it in old newsprint."  
  
His demeanor had now changed from amused by Starling's candor to depressed by his father's atrocities.  
  
"But you still love him." She said softly.  
  
"He's my father." He replied flatly. "No matter the evil he is capable of committing, he's still my father."  
  
"Forgive as Christ forgave?" She raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Something like that," he nodded. "After all, Agent Starling, if we can't forgive our fathers, who is worthy of redemption?"  
  
Starling pulled up in front of Luke Harrington's house. Jerome glanced quickly to the house and then to Starling.  
  
"Thank you, you've been most kind." He shook her hand.  
  
"I'll most likely be back, I have more questions, if that's all right with you?"  
  
"Fine by me, Agent Starling. Anything to help the FBI." He said slowly.  
  
"Clarice." She smiled. "It's Clarice."  
  
Jerome paused and smiled back. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out his sketch pad. He ripped out the page he had been working on when they first met. He looked at it, smiled, and handed it to her before getting out of the car.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Clarice." He smiled and walked to the house where his uncle Luke was waiting for him.  
  
The sketch was of her standing at the bottom of the bleachers. She was clad in a long flowing gown and had the faintest hint of a halo surrounding her head. Her hair flowing along in the wind. At the bottom was inscribed "la bella ragazza."  
  
* * *  
  
Thus concludes Chapter 3. Chapter 4 is on the way (sorry no hints). Hope you like it so far, I've finally introduced Jerome Dante. Keep the feedback coming, criticisms also welcome. See something glaring that you think I could improve? Let me know, it's the only way I'll learn. 


	4. The Lecter Trail

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 4 "The Lecter Trail"  
  
Title: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R, good stuff should be starting up soon. At least, I think it should.  
  
Summery and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: The press gets hold of files on the Good Doctor's wife, next thing you know the whole world knows about Jerome. I think it's about time I put a little intrigue into this story, how else am I going to keep you coming back?  
  
* * *  
  
Christmas had been lonely for Clarice Starling who was without family. The only highlight of the season had been the Christmas card she had received from her best friend, Ardelia Mapp.  
  
To dodge the pain, Starling went head first into her work the day after the holiday. The press was informed of the newly discovered files before the New Year. Starling didn't have to ask twice about keeping Jerome Lecter's identity a secret from the press. Both Director Noonan and Special Agent Pearsall agreed that it would be in the best interest of the Harrington family, as well as Jerome, if they continue to live in peace as they had been for the last nineteen years.  
  
But questions within the media and the FBI started to circulate as to why Dr. Lecter would request the sealing of these files. Starling herself was the subject of many questions from members of the press as well as her own peers as to Dr. Lecter's motive for doing so. She could give them an honest answer, but it wasn't what they wanted to hear: "I don't know."  
  
Starling had her theories of course, one idea was that this had been Dr. Lecter's last act as a husband and father. He simply wanted to protect his family. This answer seemed to make the most sense to Starling. But more than that, it was a way of looking past the monster she had been exposed to that summer at the fatal dinner party. Dr. Lecter was protecting his son. To Starling, it was proof of his compassionate, human side that had died along with his wife in his former life.  
  
It had been two weeks since Christmas, leads that had been there before the New Year were now gone. Work in the "Hannibal House" had chilled to a stand-still. Then, without warning, a storm from the media broke.  
  
Starling was reviewing surveillance footage from art galleries and opera houses in Florence, Tokyo and London when Pearsall burst through the office door and turned on her other television set.  
  
"Starling, we've got a problem."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"The press found out about Lecter's kid." He looked over to her briefly and flipped through the channels to find the news coverage.  
  
"_What?_"  
  
Starling was outraged, she considered it her personal mission to protect and respect the privacy of the Harrington family and the twenty-one- year-old son of Dr. Lecter.  
  
"How did they find out?" she demanded.  
  
"Two weeks ago we released the files to the press that Lecter had stored away, we didn't release any information about his wife but they found out. Once they uncovered that she had died two years before his incarceration they even stormed the Maryland records office. They thought that they had another victim until they found out about Beckett."  
  
"And then found her maternity files." Starling shook her head. "God damn," she spat. "Those bastards have no respect for someone's privacy."  
  
"He's not someone to them, Starling. He's a monster."  
  
"How long ago did they find out?" Starling looked over to him.  
  
"Not long, they haven't mentioned anything about Jerome, but you can bet they know about him all ready."  
  
"I've got to let them know they're coming." Starling reached for her phone and dialed the Harrington residence. "The last thing they need is for one of their neighbors to rat them out."  
  
* * *  
  
Luke Harrington answered his phone on the second ring.  
  
"Afternoon, Agent Starling."  
  
"Thank God you're smart enough to have caller ID, sir. They found out about you, they'll be coming on up there anytime now."  
  
"Have you seen CNN yet?"  
  
"No, why?" she snapped her fingers at Pearsall to hand over the remote control.  
  
"They're already here, Agent Starling." He walked over to his front window, the press was already swarming together on his front lawn.  
  
"Aw, damn." She rubbed her forehead. "Is Jerome still there?"  
  
"Yes, he's here." Luke handed his nephew the phone.  
  
Jerome Lecter had been sitting in the reclining chair in front of the television watching the CNN coverage of the reporters gathering in the front yard.  
  
"Hello, Clarice, so nice of you to call and warn us." His voice was calm, for a moment Starling was sure which Lecter she was speaking to.  
  
"I'm sorry this happened, Jerome." She cursed under her breath.  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Clarice. This isn't your fault. No one is blaming you for once."  
  
"We're not sure how the word got out about your mother," she looked to Pearsall who was on his cell phone. "But they found out about you through her medical files."  
  
"I think you have your answer, Clarice."  
  
"What answer?"  
  
"As to why my father would conceal my existence, perhaps he was trying to be a good Dad." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Don't tell me you haven't thought of that."  
  
"The thought crossed my mind," she moved closer to the television. She saw someone standing in the living room window. "There's someone waving to the press."  
  
"No, Clarice, I'm waving at you. I wanted to show you I'm smiling, that I'm not at all angry."  
  
Starling felt somewhat better, but seeing the growing number of press quickly brought her crashing back into regret.  
  
"It may not be safe for you up there, once the victim's families find out they're liable to come after you with wrongful death suits."  
  
"If Muskrat Farms is any indication, they're liable to come at me with worse things than that."  
  
"I was just thinking of the best case scenario."  
  
"I take it you're going to give me some friendly advice as an FBI agent, aren't you Special Agent Starling?"  
  
"I think it's for the best," she smiled as she stared at him on the television. "You going somewhere fancy?" she noticed he was in a suit and tie.  
  
"We're planning to step out for dinner," he didn't miss a beat. He was very sharp and alert. "Do you have plans this evening, Clarice?"  
  
"No, why? You asking me out?"  
  
Laughter came from the other end of the line.  
  
"You know my plans, I don't know yours." He chuckled.  
  
"I'm going to advise you and your family to get away from the house for a while, don't let anyone know where you're going. This might not cool off right away, you'll be followed at school too."  
  
"Don't tell me, you're going to pull some strings with the campus security and have them protect me."  
  
"It might be for the best."  
  
"I'll take my chances with my cattle prod. Thanks much for the concern."  
  
"Where can you and your family go for a while? Until the semester starts at least?" She was sounding almost maternal now.  
  
"We have a place," Jerome confirmed. "It's not too far from here. You passed it while driving me home."  
  
"Once you get there, call my office and leave me a contact number."  
  
"I'll be sure to do so." He paused. "Thank you for calling, Clarice. We appreciate all that you tried to do for us."  
  
"I'm just sorry they found out about you so soon."  
  
"It would have happened eventually. Take care now, Clarice, I'm not the only one who will be hounded because of this."  
  
Starling hung up just as Pearsall was putting away his cell phone.  
  
"They have a place to go until this blows over?"  
  
"They'll be calling me back later with a contact number, just in case," she nodded.  
  
"Make sure you get it directly from him, Starling. Don't have that stuff on your voice mail."  
  
"Is there a problem sir?" she stepped closer to him.  
  
"Video surveillance caught someone in the building a few minutes ago, a member of the press who walked in with a forged pass. There may be another one posing as a janitor," he looked around. "Did you notice anything shifted around this morning when you came in?"  
  
"No, other than the files you took this morning."  
  
"Nothing else was gone though?"  
  
"No, sir." She looked around. "Nothing shifted. I keep these files under lock and key when I'm not here."  
  
"Keep doing that," he nodded. "I'll check with a few other people up stairs." He sighed.  
  
"Sir, what about Dr. Lecter's lawyer? Is it possible he might have said something to the press?"  
  
"It's entirely possible, Starling." He nodded. "I'll talk with Noonan. In the meantime, you stay here and make sure you know where they're going. The last thing I want is some vigilante group going after that young man just because he's Lecter's kid."  
  
Starling nodded.  
  
"In fact, Starling, I'm going to see what I can do about getting you up there to make sure he's alright. You up for it?"  
  
"Sure thing," she nodded. "Who knows, Dr. Lecter might even be watching and want to get in touch with his son." She shrugged.  
  
"Keep at it, Starling." He snapped his fingers and rushed up stairs.  
  
Starling turned back to the television set, Jerome was still standing in the window watching the press. The figure was neatly dressed in dark suit and tie with a white shirt. He gave another wave, the press seemed to think they were being flattered. Realizing it was directed towards her, Starling couldn't help but smile.  
  
* * *  
  
I was going to write more in this chapter, but I thought I should keep you on your toes. To make up for the short chapter, I shall be posting chapter five very shortly. Next chapter I think I'll be bringing back our favorite nurse, Lord knows what he and the Good Doctor talked about during those years at the asylum.  
  
Feedback welcomed and encouraged. Thanks to all those who have written to me, I appreciate that time you took to contact me. Keep it coming folks. Aside from Barney, is anyone interested in any other characters making an appearance? Ardelia. Will Graham perhaps? How knows, they just might contribute to a more interesting story. Let me know what you think. 


	5. Psychology isn't really a science

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 5 "'Psychology isn't really a science.'"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R. I'll get to it eventually, but it's safer this way. If not for the content, at least the swearing. Warning, F-Bomb is dropped in here towards the end.  
  
Disclaimer and Summary: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: Starling compares Lecter notes with Barney, apparently she sees something of his father in the young Jerome. But is this a good thing or a bad thing?  
  
* * *  
  
Clarice Starling was packed and ready to go up to Massachusetts, her files and notes on Dr. Lecter were packed in her brief case and a modest wardrobe was packed away in her suitcase. She was ready to go. There was just one last stop to make before joining the Harrington family who had invited her to stay with them.  
  
Barney was still studying medicine while working at the hospital where she had seen him last. His smile brightened when he saw her walking up to his front door in the snowy afternoon. He had been shoveling his walk all afternoon, it was just about time for him to take a break anyway.  
  
"Hey, Barn." She waved slightly.  
  
"Agent Starling, come back for more illegal stuff on Dr. Lecter? I'm clean out." He laughed.  
  
Starling smiled.  
  
"You heard about his son, didn't you?"  
  
"It's everywhere," he nodded not bothering to remove the smile from his lips. "Every channel, they all want to know where he is."  
  
"I have to ask you, Barney," she paused and smiled.  
  
Barney nodded knowingly.  
  
Inside his apartment, they sat at his kitchen table drinking a warm cup of coffee. Barney flipped through the medical file on Annabelle Lecter and slid it back to Starling.  
  
"He never mentioned her," he shook his head. "Not to me, definitely not to Dr. Chilton."  
  
"I just find that so hard to believe," Starling shook her head. "He didn't even mention them to his lawyer. He just requested that these files be put away."  
  
"That's Dr. Lecter for you." He laughed. "He never gave me much of an answer as to why he murdered all those people. Of course, Dr. Chilton was asking him that all the time. He got frustrated with all the unanswered questions and then tried to get into Dr. Lecter's head."  
  
"That couldn't have been an easy task."  
  
"He never did it. Dr. Lecter has a steel trap for a mind. Stronger than that. Very calculating."  
  
"I bet Dr. Chilton hated hearing that from you."  
  
"I never told anyone. Dr. Chilton thought of him as a monster, so did a lot of the academics who passed through the dungeon. They just wanted to have Dr. Lecter stored away, somewhere they wouldn't have to worry about him."  
  
"You never thought he belonged there, did you?"  
  
"Absolutely not." Barney shook his head. "They put him there because he was a danger to others, not because he was in danger. But I think a part of him wanted to be shut away, to be kept away from others."  
  
Starling didn't respond. She couldn't quite see what Barney had meant, she saw the photograph of Boyle and Pembry down in Memphis, he loved doing that to both of them. Then again, they had been extremely rude. An unforgivable sin in the eyes of Dr. Lecter.  
  
"Do you think he missed his wife and son?" she asked softly.  
  
"I don't know. He never showed remorse for anything, but of course he felt that all his victims had deserved their punishments. He once compared his victims to those trapped in Hell, the ones Dante wrote about. _cantrapasso_ I think is the term he used to describe their fates. No idea what it means," he shrugged.  
  
He then paused and leaned forward to her.  
  
"What's his son like?"  
  
"In many ways, he's like Dr. Lecter."  
  
"And in other ways?"  
  
"I don't know, I like to think that we each have some of our parent's good qualities and the rest are our own, whether they're good or bad."  
  
Barney smiled.  
  
"Do you think he might try to contact his own son?" she asked.  
  
"Dr. Lecter loved Florence, he draw it completely from memory. Told me everything that was there, I could see it in his eyes that he would give anything to return to that city. And he did, despite the risk." He shrugged. "I think if he truly loves something, he'll find a way to get back to it."  
  
Starling nodded. That didn't settle well with her stomach, by implication both she and Jerome would be key targets in a surprise visit from her former mentor.  
  
"Thanks Barney," she placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed slightly.  
  
Starling was on her way out when Barney caught up to her.  
  
"Agent Starling, I hope you're right about him being different, but it would be a shame if he didn't have some of his father's good qualities. Had the circumstances been different, I'm sure Dr. Lecter would be..." he stopped himself and smiled slightly, embarrassed for bringing it up.  
  
"It would be quite something to know him in private life." She repeated the words Dr. Lecter had spoken to her eleven years before.  
  
Barney nodded.  
  
* * *  
  
Luke and Dana Harrington were standing outside in the winter snow playing fetch with their golden retriever when Starling pulled up in her Mustang. They waved to her and came over to greet her.  
  
"Agent Starling, this is my wife, Dana. Dana, this is Special Agent Starling." Luke introduced the two women.  
  
"Clarice." She smiled shaking her hand.  
  
Dana was a petite woman with short auburn hair. She was nine inches shorter than her six foot husband, but Starling could tell that she too had a strength about her. The same as both her husband and her nephew. This was a strong family.  
  
The dog ran over and yelped happily at her owners, Luke turned and bent down to scratch behind the dog's ears.  
  
"This is Debra, our guard dog. Don't let her sweetness fool you, if she catches anyone around here she knows it's welcome, she'll go strait for the neck."  
  
Starling smiled at the dog that came over and dropped the stick at her feet.  
  
"You've made a friend already." Dana smiled. "Throw the stick and she'll love you for life."  
  
Not wanting to make enemies and always happy to please animals, Starling picked the stick up and threw it towards the woods. Debra barked and ran after it while Luke and Dana lead Clarice towards the large two story cabin.  
  
"You'll be staying here with us," Luke opened the front door for her. "The guest room is down in the basement, complete with bed, office space and bathroom. You'll have privacy down there and to get into the kitchen you just walk up the stairs."  
  
Starling looked around the cabin, from the front door, the living room was to the immediate left. Furnished with two black leather sofas and three leather chairs as well as an entertainment center and fire place. The coffee table in the center of the room was cluttered with various magazines and newspapers. Starling could easily guess it was the favorite room of the house. Connected to the living room to the immediate right was the dining room complete with a large table that was fit for a large family. The kitchen was at the rear of the cabin hidden behind the stairs which lead the second story set along the left wall near the fireplace.  
  
The interior had been decorated with several large color landscapes of the Irish countryside. Starling also noted the family portraits that adorned all the walls, several of Luke and Dana, others with young children, including several of Jerome. His membership in Harrington family was undeniable.  
  
"Thank you very much, it's very kind of you to put me up like this, but the FBI can fund me the money to stay at a hotel."  
  
"Nonsense," Dana protested. "You'll be staying here where you can get free room and board. Where else are you going to get a hot meal?" she smiled.  
  
Starling couldn't hear any Irish accent in the woman's voice, but her Irish heritage was more than apparent from the way she carried herself and the way she spoke which was similar to her husband. Starling guessed she was second generation American, he parents were most likely from Ireland.  
  
They heard laughter come from the top of the stairs where two young children, a boy and girl no older than eight and seven, came down to the living room.  
  
"Clarice, these are our youngest children, our son, Alex, and our daughter, Anna. This is a friend of ours, Ms. Starling. She'll be staying with us for a while."  
  
Starling bent down and shook their hands.  
  
"Mommy says you work for the FBI." Anna said. She had a slight lisp to her speech which Starling found to be darling.  
  
"That's right, I do." She nodded.  
  
"Do you have a gun?" Alex asked. His eyes were bright and inquisitive.  
  
"Yep, sure do." She nodded patting her side where her gun was holstered.  
  
"That's right, so she can protect us." Dana said. "And to make sure you're behaving." Dana winked to Starling.  
  
"Speaking of which, you two have been cleaning your room like your mother asked haven't you?" Luke asked.  
  
The kids laughed as their father playfully chased them up stairs leaving Dana and Starling alone in the living room.  
  
"I wanted to thank you, Clarice. You're a great help to protecting my family, especially my children. We consider Jerome our own, we would hate to see him effected by this more than he all ready has been."  
  
"Is he here?"  
  
"No, he and our oldest children are out getting things for dinner. It's been so long since we've been up here that we forgot to place and order with the local grocery store, they usually deliver to us." They sat down on a sofa. "I can't tell you how bad I feel for Jerome, he was so young when he found out about his father. Now, to have all this brought up again. All those people he killed. How can you live with it?"  
  
"It comes with the territory," Starling smiled briefly. "I want to make sure that nothing happens to Dr. Lecter, or his family. He belongs back in custody, but I would hate to think that someone out there would want to harm Jerome just because he was Dr. Lecter's son."  
  
"I'm sure Hannibal was worried about that too," Luke said as he descended the staircase. "Dana and I both feel that's why he stored away those files, to protect both is wife and son."  
  
Dana nodded.  
  
"Jerome seems to think so too." Starling nodded.  
  
Outside, a green SUV pulled up into the driveway next to Starling's Mustang. Luke opened the front door to let a young girl inside the cabin, she was eighteen with long flowing auburn hair and had braces. She was carrying in two bags of groceries into the kitchen while followed by her was a young man who appeared to be about Jerome's age. The last one in was Jerome Lecter. The three of them laid the groceries down on the kitchen countertop and came back into the living room to hang their coats.  
  
"Clarice, this is our daughter, Sarah, and our oldest child, Mike." Luke introduced them.  
  
Mike Harrington was the spitting image of his father from the black hair and blue eyes to the height and frame but he had his mother's smile. If Starling didn't know better, she would have assumed that Jerome and Mike were twin brothers. Jerome came back into the living room and smiled at her.  
  
"Good afternoon, Clarice." He bowed slightly.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Starling." Mike shook her hand. "We're happy to have you staying with us."  
  
"Thanks for the hospitality." Starling nodded.  
  
"Our pleasure," Sarah shook her hand. "Besides if anyone needs protecting, it's Jerome."  
  
Jerome brushed past her and knocked her off her balance playfully. She slapped his back as he hung his coat.  
  
"Shall we prepare dinner?" Luke looked to his wife.  
  
"We should, Jerome, you get a fire going and the rest of you into the kitchen." Dana stood and the four of them moved into the kitchen together chatting.  
  
"Very nice family," Starling watched Jerome open the flue and place a log into the fire place. "Very close."  
  
"Yes, very." He nodded as he lit the log and closed the curtain.  
  
"It is good to know that you had a family like that to be around while growing up."  
  
"I think so." Jerome sat down across from her in the second leather sofa. "What about you, Clarice? Who was in your up bringing?"  
  
"Orphanage, I told you I lost my parents when I was young." Jerome nodded. "I wasn't with any one family for very long. Unlike you," she added lightheartedly.  
  
"Nineteen years and counting," Jerome smiled. "Hopefully more years will pass just a peacefully and happily."  
  
"I hope so too, which is why I'm here of course." She sat back in her seat.  
  
"You're going to ask more questions about my father aren't you?" he reclined fully with his hands resting on his chest.  
  
"I asked if that was all right, you said it was." She smiled.  
  
"Of course. Go on, please do ask."  
  
"Has your father ever contacted you, during his incarceration or after?"  
  
"No." He shook his head. "Nothing."  
  
"Did you ever contact him?"  
  
"I wrote him a Christmas card once, I don't think Luke ever sent it though." He shrugged. "Can't blame him if he didn't."  
  
"Did you have any idea that he was in Florence?"  
  
"Io non so mio padre é stato in Firenze." Jerome winked at her.  
  
Starling smiled.  
  
"I'll take that as a no. You sure do like to play mind games, don't you?"  
  
"I read in an interview Dr. Fredrick Chilton gave to _The Tattler_ once, what he thought about my father, he said that he suspected that my father never took his status as a practicing psyciatrist seriously. I don't understand how anyone could. Psychology isn't really a science you know, it's just a fun and challenging way to fuck with someone's mind. The more you know about psychology, the better you are at messing around with people."  
  
"Do you think that's what your father was doing in the asylum?"  
  
"If I was trapped inside of a box with no windows for eight years, I would imagine that I would try to amuse myself the best way I know how." He nodded. "You have to keep preoccupied some how, Clarice."  
  
* * *  
  
That's it for this chapter, as always, more is coming. Chapter six will feature a whole different kind of dinner party that Starling gets to be apart of. Yes, it could be as boring as that sounds, but there is a romance I'm trying to get to here people.  
  
Keep the feedback coming, I love to read what others have to say about my work. even if I am a hack. Thanks especially to all you wonderful fellow lecterphiles. I love the words of encouragement. Cannabilistic Fish, please don't injure yourself while smacking your head against your keyboard anymore. My wife's a doctor, she says it's not exactly a "healthy thing" as she puts it.  
  
I deeply apologize for offending anyone, including my wife, for the swearing. I promised her I would give it up for Lent, including in my stories. 


	6. Starling and the Family Setting

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 6 "Starling and the Family Setting"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R. just to be on the safe side, as I always claim.  
  
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: Isn't it funny, Jerome says a lot of things that his father would, but Starling doesn't seem to mind. Could it be love between the two of them?  
  
* * *  
  
The guest room in the basement of the Harrington cabin was spacious and comfortable despite the presence of a queen size bed, two dressers on opposite sides of the room and a large desk area. There were no pictures on the wall. Clarice Starling set-up her notebook computer on the desk surface and pulled out the case file on Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Flipping through, she stared at the crime scene photos and decided to keep the file in the desk drawer in case one of the younger children, or even Jerome Lecter, was to visit her room.  
  
She decided to leave the rest of her stuff in her case for now. She'd get to it after dinner or the next morning. She reclined on the bed to catch a brief nap when Dana Harrington came down to deliver fresh towels into the bathroom that came complete with a shower stall and bath tub, this was definitely a private sanctuary.  
  
"Dinner will be ready shortly," she said closing the bathroom door. "Another five minutes. Anything else you need down here?"  
  
"No, I'm fine. This is such a nice room, you could live down here." She smiled while looking around.  
  
"You certainly could," Dana nodded. "Luke was almost inclined to put a mini-freezer down here, but he decided against it. If he had, we would probably see even less of Jerome when we came up here."  
  
Starling paused, she then smiled slightly to herself.  
  
"This is Jerome's room." It wasn't a question, just a realization.  
  
"He keeps it very clean, he was more than happy to give it up for your stay." She nodded.  
  
"I feel terrible that I'm kicking him out," Starling stood up.  
  
"No, not at all," Dana shook her head. "He's upstairs with Alex and Mike, they stay up half the night chatting anyway. Besides, if he were down here, he'd just spend all his time on his computer or reading."  
  
"I saw his library in his dorm, very impressive."  
  
"That's not even half of what he owns." Dana walked over to the closet and opened the door. An entire half of the closet space had been taken over by a large, floor to ceiling bookcase that was packed full of works spanning from classical literature to modern novels. The majority were fictional works while there were a good assortment of historical and biographical novels of famous world leaders, philosophers, theologians, religious persons, and saints.  
  
"You should see the collection he has back in his room at home," she smiled.  
  
"Larger than this?" Starling bent in closer to view the titles.  
  
"Larger than the one he has here and in his dorm room combined. His room is wall to wall bookshelves."  
  
"Must be hard at Christmas, never knowing which books he's all ready got."  
  
Dana laughed out loud.  
  
"Most of the time, we get him gift certificates. I have no idea how he keeps himself from buying the same thing twice. But he knows every single title he owns, they're all stored away up here." She pointed to her head.  
  
"But he has several copies of the _Inferno_," she pointed to a row of books. "I saw many of these translations in his dorm room."  
  
Dana nodded. "Dante is his favorite poet, he quotes him the most."  
  
"So does his father," she said quietly. She then looked to her hostess to apologize for any offense.  
  
"Yes, he does." Dana nodded, she was surprisingly not offended. "Hannibal's nickname for Annabelle was 'Beatrice.' She was the love of Dante's life, he wrote the _La Vita Nuova_ for her."  
  
Dana smiled briefly and then left the room.  
  
Starling watched her leave before turning her attention back to the collection of books. She recognized many of the modern novels. Jerome had all of the works by J. R. R. Tolkien as well as several works done by Arther Miller. Jerome had also been collecting the works of Ann Rice. She flipped through his copy of _Interview With a Vampire_ and noted that he had written comments to the author and the characters within the margins. Flipping through the other books he owned, she could see he had written in all of them.  
  
What caught Starling's attention the most of his private library was the vast amount of true crime books, most of which had been written by Anne Rule. Starling wasn't sure to be concerned or not at his collection of serial killer literature, many of the modern serial killers had their own collections of serial killer lore. She then calmed herself, she had to remember that he was an avid reader. He had just as much literature on the lives of the Roman Catholic saints as American serial killers.  
  
From the stairwell, she could hear footsteps approaching the door. She walked to the base of the stairs and saw Luke Harrington coming down.  
  
"Dinner's ready, you getting settled in?"  
  
"Yes," she nodded. "It's very nice. I was just looking through Jerome's library."  
  
"It's not as impressive as the one he has back home."  
  
"So your wife was saying," she followed him into the kitchen where Mike, Sarah, Dana and the youngest, Anna, were taking plates of food out to the dinning room. "I take it he reads a lot."  
  
"He lives in his books," Luke nodded grabbing a bottle of red wine and leading Starling out to the dinning room where the family was sitting down ready for the meal. "Hand him a book, on anything, and he can get lost in it."  
  
"Speaking of which," Mike gestured to Jerome who was sitting in his spot closest to the door with a book wide open.  
  
"No books at the dinner table," Sarah waved a hand in front of his face, he didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Hey." Luke took a role and threw it towards Jerome who caught it while it was still in flight and laid it gently down on his plate. He looked up from his reading and winked at his uncle.  
  
Dana took a seat next to her nephew and pulled the book from his hands and playfully slapped the top of his head with it.  
  
Jerome smiled and stood up to help Luke pass around the plates. Starling sat to Jerome's left with Mike, Luke, Sarah, Alex and Anna arranged clockwise in that order. After the meal had been passed around and the plates were filled, they all joined hands in a brief prayer before they ate.  
  
Starling had not prayed before eating any of her meals since her days at the Lutheran orphanage, she felt a bit out of place at that moment due to her lack of faith.  
  
With the silent awkward moment passed, she once again felt included with the Harrington family as they began to eat and carry on normal family conversations. Luke and his son were discussing the future golf season while Dana and Sarah discussed a movie they were planning to see. Alex and Anna were lost in their own private conversation which they had decided to keep a secret from the others. They shared silent whispers and every so often giggled at each other. Jerome and Starling were the only ones who silently ate their dinner.  
  
"Saw your collection of books down stairs," she said to him while taking a sip of red wine.  
  
"You're welcome to read whichever book you would like," Jerome nodded while cutting up a thin piece of roast beef. "Anything strike you in particular?"  
  
"Not really, although that is a large collection of true crime books you have."  
  
"Yes," he nodded. He tilted his head up, already knowing where she was going with this. "Disturbing aren't they?"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "Not considering the circumstances, your father." she looked around the table, no one seemed to be listening to her. But she decided it was best that she didn't bring it up at the moment. "I understand why they might be interesting subject matter for you."  
  
"I appreciate the consideration into my family's well being, especially for the younger two." He looked to Alex and Anna with a smile. "You and I should take a walk after dinner, I could show you around. We'd have a chance to talk privately."  
  
Starling nodded.  
  
"While you're out, you can take Deb for a walk." Dana leaned closer to Jerome who nodded.  
  
"Don't forget you promised to help me with my English homework," Sarah looked over to Jerome.  
  
"New book you're reading for class?" Luke asked. His focus was now on his entire family.  
  
"Just some poetry, Eliot and a few others, I know Jerome's read some of their work."  
  
"Is this a paper you're working on?" Jerome asked without looking up.  
  
"Poem analysis, symbolism. that kind of thing."  
  
"Sounds charming," Jerome smiled back at her. "I'll be right up after my walk with Agent Starling." He nodded.  
  
"Not too far," Luke insisted. "In fact I want to know where you guys are going when you step out. We don't need the press knowing we're here."  
  
"I'm real sorry about that getting out," Starling apologized to the family.  
  
"No, not at all." Luke shook his head. "We understand that you talked to your superiors and requested that our family not be mentioned to the press. Some times, things just have a way of getting out."  
  
"I just wish we knew who."  
  
"Isn't there an internal investigation?" Dana asked.  
  
"My superiors are looking into it," she nodded. "Hopefully it wasn't someone from the department looking for some quick cash."  
  
"Avarice in the FBI?" Jerome leaning back in his chair. "Could there be a traitor amongst your peers?"  
  
"Could be," Starling smiled playfully. "Who knows?"  
  
Jerome chuckled slightly.  
  
"Hopefully it hasn't come to that." Dana said finishing her meal. "Anyone for desert?"  
  
The rest of the family finished their meal and had their share of the two apple pies that had been bought at the store. Mike and Sarah assisted their parents clean up in the kitchen while Alex and Anna were in the living room watching the television. Starling grabbed her coat and followed Jerome outside with the family dog. The January night air was cool and calm, the sky was clear and the stars were shining. Starling smiled, she knew these kinds of nights but not from living in D. C. They had starry winter nights in West Virginia too.  
  
"I believe you were hinting at something during dinner tonight, Clarice." Jerome said from the bottom of the porch stairs.  
  
"Nothing really, I think I said what I wanted to." She descended the stairs and joined him on his walk.  
  
"They disturbed you." His voice was deep and flat. "I apologize."  
  
"No, they're your books. Your property. I shouldn't have said anything."  
  
"Why not?" he turned towards her. "You're an investigator. I would be extremely disappointed if you were to put that part of you away just because you're here with us. Something tells me that I'd be missing out on your best side."  
  
"Best side? You haven't read about what happened at the fish market."  
  
"That was over a year ago, you haven't let that go have you? It affected you that much?"  
  
"I don't know." She shrugged.  
  
"No, you do know, Clarice. How did it affect you?"  
  
Starling smiled slyly at him. "Trying to fuck with my mind? How much psychology do you know?"  
  
"Very little, I can assure you. I know as much as what I have read in school, we're required to take a Human Diversity and Psychology class for graduation. I take excellent notes." He paused with a bright smile, she laughed sensing his playfulness. "Now tell me, how did the fish market affect you?"  
  
"It wasn't so much of what happened that affected me the most," she folded her arms across her chest as they walked.  
  
"It's what happened to you _because_ of what happened." He nodded.  
  
"Do you ever expect to be stabbed in the back in your boss's office for doing exactly what they tell you to do?"  
  
"No, I doubt that any man has, Clarice. I suspect that it is the only surviving tactic of men versus women. They attack you because you're a threat to them, you do your job better than they do. The fact that you are a women succeeding in a man's world only adds fuel to their fire."  
  
"You're father said the same thing," she looked briefly to him. "It's so strange, sometimes I don't know who I'm talking to when I'm with you."  
  
"You're talking to me, Clarice. I'm the only one here."  
  
"But is it you or your father that I hear?"  
  
"Who do you want it to be?" Jerome stopped.  
  
For the first time, Starling could actually hear a voice that was unlike his father's. It was still strong and confident, but it wasn't academic or probing. It was different, full of concern, yet comforting. It was Jerome's.  
  
"I don't know, but I seem to be fine right now."  
  
Jerome nodded and continued to walk with Starling at his side.  
  
"Do you ever worry that he might come back for you?" she asked breaking the silence suddenly.  
  
"Do you ever worry?"  
  
"I asked you first," she turned towards him.  
  
Jerome smiled.  
  
"He had so many years of freedom to do so," he shrugged. "He might or he might not. Perhaps he would find it too painful to come back to me for so many years, I would remind him too much of my mother." He looked down.  
  
"I don't think he would either," Starling took his hand in his. "But just in case, I'm ready for him."  
  
Jerome looked over to her and smiled softly.  
  
"I think I'm going to like staying here for a while." She said quietly.  
  
In a voice no higher than a whisper, he leaned into her ear and said: "I think I will too."  
  
* * * That is all for this chapter. Like what you read? Please give me some of those reviews I love to read so much. My thanks to all who have taken the time to read thus far, I treasure each undeserved praise from my fellow lecterphiles and loyal readers.  
  
The next chapter will be a change in plot, some old favorites will be making an entrance, although I must confess it will not be coming out as quickly as the others. Hope all those who have been reading thus far continue to do so. Ta-ta, Jerome. 


	7. The Cannibal and The Dragon

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 7 "The Cannibal and The Dragon"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R. Language.  
  
Disclaimer and Summary: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: All is not well in the world since the discovery of Dr. Lecter's son, Jerome. The FBI's efforts to capture Dr. Lecter are at a stand-still, it's time for the "Hannibal House" team to bring in some extra help. a former FBI agent with a connection to Dr. Lecter.  
  
* * *  
  
"This is wrong and something has to be done about it!" she shouted into the microphones arranged in front of the podium. "How is it that no one knew the bastard had a son? There is something seriously wrong here if the FBI has been withholding information!"  
  
Her fiery words were met with cheers and encouraging roars from the small crowd that had assembled before the front steps of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. All shared in the outrage that was being voiced by their group leader on this rainy January morning.  
  
"They _claim_ to have known nothing about this! How could they not know for twenty-one years that Hannibal Lecter has a son? It's an outrage! When the guilty are imprisoned, they should not be allowed to have the same rights as those who are innocent! They should have no special rights of privacy!"  
  
Another round of applause and cheering from the crowd. The press was there recording the demonstration and the reaction from those in the crowd. The group was a collection of family members who had lost someone to Dr. Lecter. They first received press notoriety after Dr. Lecter's escape from Memphis as they rallied to demand his immediate recapture. Then they came back into popularity after the discovery that he had returned to the United States and had been here for several months while completely undetected.  
  
Within the six months between the murder of Paul Krendler and the "horrors of Muskrat Farms" and the discovery of Dr. Lecter's son, the group had gone from the front headlines of the associated press to the back pages. Now they were making front headlines once again in expressing their outrage and disgust of how Dr. Lecter's family had been withheld from the public. No one seemed to except that the FBI was just as clueless as anyone else.  
  
Looking down from his fifth story window, Assistant Director Noonan watched the press swarm around the small rally. Special Agent Pearsall stood at his side.  
  
"Darleen Taylor," Noonan gestured to the front speaker with his chin. "Her daughter was the Yale student whose body was never found."  
  
"She started this thing didn't she?"  
  
"After the breakout in Memphis," Noonan nodded. "She called the press last night to give them a head's up, I found out about it when those damn hacks from the _Tattler_ called me asking me for a quote."  
  
"You should have told them to 'fuck off.' That's what Starling would have said." Pearsall smiled to himself.  
  
"She's a spitfire," Noonan said walking back to his desk. Pearsall didn't move from the window. "She's a great agent, gives a lot to her work."  
  
"Sure does." Pearsall nodded. "I wouldn't want her working on anything else. She knows Lecter better than anyone."  
  
"All most." Noonan corrected.  
  
Pearsall turned around to face him. He was disappointed the Assistant Director hadn't considered his request, but he wasn't surprised.  
  
"We still have one more person we can call."  
  
"He's a drunk." Pearsall protested. "Lecter's done so much damage to him already, a third run would kill the poor bastard."  
  
"Not if _he_ kills Lecter first."  
  
"You would rather have Lecter dead than locked away? You should be happy Starling isn't here right now, she would rip you a new one." Pearsall walked over and took a seat in front of Noonan's desk.  
  
"We don't have any other options," he shrugged. "Starling's up in Massachusetts guarding that young man's life, I don't want her anywhere else."  
  
Pearsall's eyes narrowed. "Because she's the only one who can protect Lecter's son or because you don't want her here to make you and all the other agents look bad?"  
  
Noonan let out a loud sigh and leaned forward with his forearms on the desk.  
  
"Clint, you know FBI policy better than anyone. If it looks bad coming from an agent, it's bad for the FBI. Let's face it, the only reason why she couldn't capture Lecter six months ago was because she was drugged out of her fucking mind. Had she not been impaired."  
  
"Sir, I would hate to remind you that it was _Lecter_ who drugged her, she's not an addict. Not like the one you want to bring in here. You said it yourself, if it looks bad coming from an agent-"  
  
"All right." Noonan put a hand up calmly. "I appreciate that you're putting the Bureau first."  
  
"I'm not. I'm doing my job as the leader on this task force you have Starling and I working on. You want us to get Lecter, we will. But you and the others have to let us do our job. We will find him, it's been done before."  
  
"And that's exactly why I'm bringing in the extra help." Noonan cut him off. "Starling isn't the one who captured Lecter, but we do know that he's drawn to her."  
  
"You've reduced Starling to bait?"  
  
"Not at all. I agree completely with you Clint, she's the best agent to have on the task force. Like you said, she knows Lecter better than anyone. But she doesn't know how to get him into custody."  
  
Pearsall sat back farther in his chair. He sighed heavily and shook his head.  
  
"You're making a mistake. Crawford would agree with me, he won't survive this."  
  
"I want to thank you for your insight, Agent Pearsall. Your request has been noted. You may return to your office now, I'm sure there's some work that had to be caught up on. I would hate to keep you from it." Noonan didn't look up from his work as Pearsall was dismissed.  
  
Pearsall wasted no time in getting out of the office. He headed down to the "Hannibal House" where he had left the television on. The press was covering the demonstration going on outside of the FBI Headquarters as well as including the interviews that had been complied from the neighbors of the Harrington family.  
  
"I can't believe he never told me," a young girl stood next to her parents in front of the camera. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. The text at the bottom of the screen identified her as Mary Sullivan, a former girlfriend of Jerome Lecter. "He never mentioned anything about his father being a murderer. Why would he hide that from me?"  
  
"Did he ever harm you?" a reporter interrupted her. "Did he ever bite you?"  
  
"Christ," Pearsall spat under his breath. "You're the son of a cannibal and you're instantly labeled a fucking vampire."  
  
"No," Sullivan wailed dramatically as her parents lead her away from the reporter and back to her own home.  
  
The video then cut to a diner that Jerome had frequented often while in high school. The interviewee was a waiter who had attended school with Jerome.  
  
"He was real quiet, kept to himself." He nodded. "He would just sit in the back corner and read his books until late in the afternoon. Sometimes his uncle and aunt would come and find him. He was really quiet," the boy leaned in closer to the camera. "It was like he had his own _secret_ life, you know? Like he was trying to hide something from everyone."  
  
"Do you think he's capable of killing someone? Like his father?" the reporter asked.  
  
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I didn't know much about Jerome, he wasn't very popular. But if he was killing people at night, wouldn't surprise me with his Dad being a vampire and all."  
  
"Lord!" Pearsall rolled his eyes and turned off the television.  
  
Exhausted all ready from the media hype, he decided to get back to work and investigate the facts he had. He had taken over for Starling during her time away, he knew not to expect much. The last solid lead they had was the latent prints that had been found on the note Dr. Lecter had sent to the widow of Renaldo Pazzi. That had been two months ago, just before Thanksgiving.  
  
To pass the time, Pearsall decided to educate himself on all that there was to know in the case file on Dr. Lecter, beginning from his discussions with the young trainee, Clarice Starling, during the Buffalo Bill case. It would be twelve years since that case had been closed in the coming fall. Before Pearsall could finish reviewing all the taped conversations between Starling and Dr. Lecter, Assistant Director Noonan had approached him with the idea of bringing in a third agent to help in the search for Dr. Lecter.  
  
Pearsall looked down to the pile of files stacked on his desk. Reaching for the first file on top, he read the name handwritten on the folder tab: "Francis Dolarhyde/The Tooth Fairy/The Red Dragon." Opening the file to the first page he read the name of the agents assigned to the case, "Jack Crawford and Will Graham."  
  
* * *  
  
The room was a mess. As it always was. But for some reason it bothered him even more this particular morning. Looking to his alarm clock, he corrected himself on his perception of time. "Afternoon?" he muttered. He then slammed his head back into his pillow and pulled the covers over his shoulder. Reaching to the night stand, he picked up the remote control and flipped on the television while keeping his head crammed into the pillow and his eyes tightly shut. He then dropped the remote back on the night stand next to the alarm clock.  
  
"You don't work, why do I keep you?" he questioned the alarm clock. Opening one eye and glancing at it, he found the answer. "Molly."  
  
Printed on the face of the alarm clock, which had refused to work in the last few months, was a picture of his beloved Molly. She smiled brightly, her hair waving in the Florida breeze. She was wearing her torn- up jeans and tight fitting green sweater. His favorite outfit. He wished he could see her in it now, it would give him a reason to get up. or to stay in bed and snuggle at her side.  
  
No. No, this morning he would have to get up. He had another reason to live, even if she wasn't it. Outside his bedroom door, he could hear his son taking a shower in the bathroom down the hall. Josh had decided to come home during his Christmas break from college, he would be returning to his studies at the University of Florida in another week before the start of the next semester. Although Josh knew his father could operate by himself, his drinking hadn't been improving. Christmas was Will Graham's heavy drinking time. Josh was there to be with his father and to keep him out of trouble.  
  
"Couldn't end the world right now, could you Lord? Have to make me suffer through one more day." He grumbled as he slid out of bed. "Just as it has always been _Your_ will to let us suffer."  
  
Ever since his last conversation with Dr. Hannibal Lecter in the dungeon, and the following personal encounter with Francis Dolarhyde, it had been proven to Graham that there was a God and He was a sadist. Graham actually agreed with Dr. Lecter, killing _does_ feel good to God. He crushed parishioners in His churches. The Almighty allowed innocent people to be killed all the time.  
  
Graham had been wrong too, another point for Dr. Lecter, a roof could fall on anyone, including Molly and Josh. Molly's death had proven that point. After He took her, Graham never questioned, nor doubted, God's malevolence again. The sickening part for Graham was the fact that Dr. Lecter had been right all along. That fact alone was enough of a reason to get him plastered every night. Dr. Lecter was with him everywhere he went, in his dreams and ringing in his ears. Graham couldn't escape him and had since given up on trying.  
  
Looking to the television, he suddenly realized he had it on MUTE. Taking the remote control, he turned the volume up loud enough so that he could listen while he cleaned up in the bathroom. He slowly opened the door, as was his morning ritual, and prepared himself to see the mirrors smashed with the smallest pieces taken out. Only the smallest ones would suit the Dragon's needs.  
  
Graham paused at the door, held his breath and quickly looked in. As always, and the best part of his routine, the mirrors were not smashed. Dolarhyde was still dead. He did jump back upon glancing himself in the mirror, however. The scar on the side of his abdomen was still deep and thick. The bullet wounds were completely healed and had left behind white patches that stood out from his tanned skin along with the scar that ran along his upper chest. The scar above his left brow was white from the sun as well. He looked at them each and sighed. He was amazed that he was still living. The fact that God had not allowed him to die, like his beloved wife, was another proof of God's twisted and sadistic plan for His tortured creation, Will Graham.  
  
Getting a good look at himself in the mirror, he observed the growing stubble on his face and rubbed his chin. His hair was shortly cropped, almost to a complete buzz. His blonde hair had only the slightest flecks of white in it. Out in the sun, one would not be able to tell he was nearly fifty. He looked tired and scrawny, nothing like the well built man he had been when he left the FBI, either time.  
  
"The hell with it," he muttered and made his way back to bed.  
  
He lay on the covers with his eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of the room and to the television.  
  
"Protesters today, lead by Darleen Taylor, rallied outside of the FBI Headquarters in Washington. All those who were present today came to voice their outrage against the recent discovery that notorious serial killer, and former psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter, had sealed documents which were recently reopened for the first time since before his capture in 1982. Their rally raises the question of whether or not prisoners should have privacy rights. This comes after the most shocking discovery that Dr. Lecter had a family prior to his incarceration."  
  
Graham instantly sat straight up on his bed at the announcement and turned up the volume.  
  
"Found within these documents were a marriage and birth certificate, proving the existence of a wife and son. A death certificate was also found for Annabelle Lecter, former wife of Dr. Lecter, dated two years before Lecter was captured after murdering nine people. Dr. Lecter's whereabouts are still unknown at this time since his escape from his Memphis cell in the fall of 1990 and his evasion from being captured last summer after murdering both Mason Verger, a former Lecter victim, and Paul Krendler, former aid to the office of the D. C. District Attorney. At this time, the whereabouts of Dr. Lecter's son is also unknown."  
  
Graham was stunned. He had absolutely no idea that Dr. Lecter had a family of his own. He knew everything about Lecter, his background, his parents, his murdered sister, his education. everything. He had never read anything about a marriage, or a birth of a child. Graham felt nauseated. This was just one more thing that he had in common with his worst enemy. The words suddenly flooded back into Graham's tortured mind:  
  
"Do you know how you caught me, Will? Because you and I are most alike."  
  
For years Graham had pondered those words. Was it because he felt guilty for murdering _Tattler_ reported Freddy Lounds? No. He hated Lounds, he didn't feel anything over the death of the reporter. But what else would have lead Dr. Lecter to put Graham in such close proximity? What made Graham most like Dr. Lecter?  
  
Graham suddenly slapped his forehead, he could feel his heart and stomach sink. The floor seemed to have fallen out from under his feet. He could see it clearly, that night at Dr. Lecter's home, the night Graham knew Dr. Lecter to be his hunted prey:  
  
"We went to Molly's parent's house, and her father was showing my son, Josh, how to carve a chicken."  
  
"Yeah?" Dr. Lecter leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on Graham's every word.  
  
"And he was telling my son that the best parts were at the oysters on either side of the back. I had never heard that term before, 'oysters'."  
  
Graham put a hand over his eyes, how could he not have seen it then? Dr. Lecter's eyes fixed on him, not because Graham had finally understood that each victim was being dissected for their "sweet breads," Dr. Lecter could have cared less whether or not Graham knew what he was doing to his victims. It was Josh. Dr. Lecter had been completely transfixed upon hearing about Graham's only son. The flash in his eyes had been so brief, so out of character, that Graham had completely forgotten he had seen it. Both were so much alike because they were family men.  
  
Ever since finding out that Dr. Lecter had returned to the United States, Graham had been unwillingly trying to get into his head. He knew that the Bureau would be contacting him soon to return, every morning when he went out to get the morning paper, he half expected to see Jack Crawford standing at the bottom of his porch stairs holding up crime scene photographs from a new Lecter murder. Although he would outwardly dismiss the idea of returning to the Lecter case, he had been trying to get back into shape, mentally at least. At night, he would try to see if he could get into Dr. Lecter's mind, something he had been close to doing over fifteen years ago. With the sudden announcement that Dr. Lecter had a family, he could feel himself inch closer into the mind of Hannibal Lecter, the living, breathing nightmare of humanity.  
  
Graham was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even hear his son Josh enter into the room until he placed a hand on his father's shoulder. Graham jumped at the touch.  
  
"Dad, relax. Just me." Josh sat down next to him.  
  
He was a grown man now of twenty-three, handsome with rugged features. He was a lot like his father in his broad shoulders and muscular build, all of which had since faded on the elder Graham. But his hair and his eyes were unmistakably Molly's.  
  
"Sorry," he yawned and patted his son on the shoulder. "Didn't hear you come in."  
  
"I gathered," Josh muttered. "What's this I hear about Lecter?"  
  
"Nothing." Graham said quickly and shut off the television. "Nothing, we're not getting involved."  
  
Josh nodded. "Like Mom asked."  
  
"Like Mom asked." Graham repeated. He pushed the memory of her voice out of his mind, he didn't want to torture himself any more over her today.  
  
Josh got up from next to his father and picked up an empty bottle of Scotch from the dresser near the door. "Mom also asked that you stop drinking."  
  
"I know," Graham nodded. "I'm trying."  
  
"Right." Josh said and put down the bottle. He knew better than to challenge his father on a personal level, after all, his father was "functioning alcoholic." Drinking was the only thing his father had to escape from reality; the near death of his family, the conversations with Dr. Lecter, the death of his wife. His father needed to drink, that's how Josh rationalized it.  
  
"Pancakes?" Graham got up and stood next to his son, they were about the same height as well, but Josh was taller by an inch.  
  
"Out of milk." Josh shook his head. "What to eat out?"  
  
"Yeah." Graham nodded. "Fine, what time is it?"  
  
"Almost twelve, just in time for lunch." Josh shrugged. "You get cleaned up, I'll get the mail."  
  
Graham snapped his fingers and pointed at his son as he walked back into his bathroom and shut the door. Josh listened to his father for a moment as he turned on the water in the shower and then picked up the empty bottle again. He ran his thumb over the label where he had marked the level of remaining alcohol in the bottle the day before. It was at the half way point then.  
  
"Gone now." Josh sighed and collected it under his arm as he gathered all the remaining empty bottles next to the television and headed out.  
  
Josh and his father lived in a small one story house just outside of Gainesville. They found it hard to remain in their former house after Dolarhyde had added to the family's nightmares, along with those originally started by Dr. Lecter. Josh still remembered the night he and his family had almost joined the Jacobi and Leeds families in the Dragon's "Becoming." He hated to refer to that horrible night as such, but he refused to acknowledge it on an even more personal level. Josh had his own scars that were just as damaging and as deep as his father's. Josh too dreamed of the Dragon. And like his father, he too was living without his sanity's feminine anchor.  
  
At first, he was unsure of the stability in his parent's marriage after such an ordeal. Years of counseling and marriage therapy lead to a brief separation. Molly had taken Josh away from his father. The time apart had been less than four months. One day Graham came out to Montana, got down on his knees on the front step of their new apartment and spent the entire afternoon out in the rain until she agreed to let him in. Graham hadn't said a word all day and was soaking wet when he came inside. He claimed he was repenting. They spent the entire night talking and the next morning, proudly announced that they had decided to renew their wedding vows before returning to Florida. Josh was twelve-years-old when his father made him his best man.  
  
Life in their new home was peaceful and pleasant. As Josh grew older, he started to have nightmares featuring Dolarhyde. Graham and Molly did everything they could to help him, sending him to various psychiatrists and counselors, all of whom Graham avoided, but he was more than happy to attend to the bills. Family happiness became extremely important to Graham and for a while, things seemed to settle.  
  
Josh was sixteen-years-old when his mother died. It had been a freak accident in a fifteen car pile-up along the Florida state highway. Molly had been on her way home from the supermarket during a sudden harsh rainstorm. The tractor trailer ahead of her suddenly went into a skid, the driver lost complete control, and the trailer jack-knifed. Molly had no time to slam on her breaks, she crashed into the side of the trailer. Cars behind her skidded and crashed into her rear, the trailer then came crashing down on her and three other trapped drivers. She had died instantly when the roof of her car pinned her head over the steering wheel is such a way that her neck had snapped. The coroner assured her destroyed husband that she had felt no pain.  
  
Graham sent Josh to his grandparents' briefly before the funeral. After the services for his mother, Graham turned to drinking, heavily. Molly Graham had died three days before Christmas. She had been on her way home after picking up the turkey for their Christmas Eve dinner. He had called her up from his small boat repair shop and asked her to get it, something he had promised to do himself that morning, but a rush order from a client kept him from his promise. He never forgave himself. From that day on, Graham became a firm believer that Dr. Lecter has been right, God was a sadist and His only purpose for the drunkard Graham was that he suffered throughout the rest of his life.  
  
Outside, Josh slowly walked to the mailbox and observed the cloudless, blue January sky. The benefit of living in the south was that so- called "Winter Weather" required a short sleeve shirt and pants rather than short sleeve shirt and shorts. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and decided that he better get a hair cut before his classes resumed.  
  
The mail was light, one piece addressed to him from his school, his class schedule for the next semester and attached tuition bill. The other two pieces of mail were for his father. He closed the mailbox and looked up to see two well dressed men across the street. Josh sighed, he knew they were unmistakably FBI agents.  
  
"Hey there, Josh," the taller agent smiled taking out his badge.  
  
"Agent Hurley." Josh nodded then to the other. "Agent Murdock, good afternoon gentlemen."  
  
"Know what we're here for?" Murdock asked.  
  
"Nope. Don't care." He shook his head. "If you've come here to recruit my Dad to come back to you, you're wasting your time."  
  
The two men crossed the street and approached Josh who remained next to the mailbox.  
  
"Your father has heard about the latest in the Lecter case, hasn't he?" Murdock asked.  
  
"I'm sure he has, he won't have anything to do with it." Josh shook his head again. "Off the grass if you please."  
  
Neither agent moved. "It's important that we speak to your father, Josh. That is if he isn't too. busy." Hurley gave a brief glance to his partner with a smirk.  
  
"Nothing doing." Josh folded his arms across his chest. "My father is not going to be dragged through this again. You'll just have to call upon someone else to help you catch him."  
  
"Speaking for your father?" Murdock asked smugly.  
  
"Good day gentlemen." Josh turned and walked back to the house.  
  
The agents followed in pursuit and cut him off in his tracks.  
  
"Just five minutes, we want to hear the rejection from him." Hurley said.  
  
"A rejection is still a rejection, regardless of who gives it." Josh said coolly as he continued walking. "You've got your answer, please leave us alone."  
  
"We'll be back Josh." Hurley warned.  
  
Josh came back inside to find his father in the kitchen clad in his bathrobe searching for a bottle of water in the refrigerator. He looked to his son, and then went back to his search.  
  
"They want you back Dad." Josh said handing the mail to his father.  
  
"You don't say." Graham said sarcastically as he accepted the letters and placed them on the kitchen counter.  
  
"What happened? What's the 'new development'?"  
  
"Nothing that we have to worry about, Josh." Graham closed the refrigerator door and shook his head. "We're done."  
  
"They'll keep asking."  
  
"We'll keep saying no." He said calmly. "No is a complete answer."  
  
"What if you could save some lives?" Josh asked, avoiding his father's piercing glare.  
  
Josh was becoming more like his father every day. Graham had tried to dissuade his son from pursuing a degree in Criminal Justice but Josh wouldn't budge. As a boy, Josh had admired his father's conviction to help others. He proudly told all his friends and teachers that his father was an FBI agent. Even after his encounter with Dolarhyde, Josh was sure that he was going to go into Law Enforcement to keep men like Dolarhyde from hurting others. It broke Josh's heart to know that his father no longer believed in the same thing he once had.  
  
"No." Graham said coldly.  
  
* * *  
  
Thus ends chapter seven, a nice long one this time. I thought it was about time to take a break from the Jerome/Starling plot and focus on another favorite Harris character. How about that? Clint Pearsall, Will Graham and Josh in the same chapter. More is on the way.  
  
Thanks to all who have been kind enough to send reviews and feedback, please continue to do so. I enjoy reading them very much. Special thanks to Holly Graham who gave me her kind and expert advice on how to write Will Graham, thank you. Next chapter I shall introduce a new character and bring back an old favorite. 


	8. Discovery and Recovery

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 8 "Discovery and Recovery"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R, adult language.  
  
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: Despite how much I love the original characters that the great and talented Mr. Thomas Harris has created in his stories, I can't help but add a few of my own. With news of the latest Hannibal Lecter discovery spreading, and the manhunt continuing, a new reporter emerges and is hell bent on prying into the private life of Jerome Lecter. And an old acquaintance returns from a six month recovery period.  
  
* * *  
  
The press had already gathered in the conference room of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Assistant Director Noonan and Special Agent Clint Pearsall sat along the side wall closest to the podium. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations had insisted that there be a press conference to counter the protest rally that had gone on the day before. Noonan's secretary walked in and leaned in closer to the Assistant Director.  
  
"I just got a call from the field office in Tampa Bay, Will Graham came into their office yesterday afternoon."  
  
"Is he coming back?"  
  
"He refuses. And he requests that the field office stop bringing agents to harass him and his son." She said quietly.  
  
"Does he have any idea what he's turning down?" Noonan looked around. "Does he know what's been going on here in the last few weeks?"  
  
"They asked him that same thing in Tampa, he didn't respond, refused to give comment. What else can they do, sir?"  
  
"Clint," Noonan sharply turned to face Pearsall. "You and Starling get down to Gainesville and get Graham up here. We need his help."  
  
"He all ready said no, what can we do?" Pearsall shrugged. "Besides, Starling's in Massachusetts. She's not to leave that young man's side, especially with these vultures," he gestured to the press who were still setting up their cameras for the conference.  
  
"Call Starling down, she's going with you. I don't care what he says, you're not to come home empty handed. We are going to catch that son-of-a- bitch. This has gone on long enough." Noonan then looked to his watch. "Better get this damn thing started."  
  
Noonan approached the podium as his secretary made her way out. Pearsall leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and his head on his fists. He sighed and waited.  
  
"Afternoon," Noonan paused to wait for the reporters to take their seats. "We'll be running this conference today with open questions directed to myself and Special Agent Clint Pearsall seated at my right, he's the head of the task force to find Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Fire away." He gestured to the floor.  
  
Pearsall got up and stood next to Noonan as the floor of reports began to raise hands and call out their questions. The first came from an Asian woman wearing a navy suit sitting in the front row:  
  
"Why wasn't the public immediately notified when Lecter's files were first discovered?"  
  
"Simple enough," Pearsall leaned closer to the microphones. "Our task force had to go through those files and sweep for anything that might be helpful in our efforts to find Dr. Lecter. A lot of his personal files, as well as the files on his patients, were destroyed before his capture. We need those files back. There was also a possibility of those files containing a location he might have escaped to, we needed to know this first if we wanted to recapture him. Next question." He pointed to a blond woman standing in the third row from the back.  
  
"Who made the files know to the FBI?"  
  
"Dr. Lecter's lawyer, who had been sworn by Lecter to not reveal the existence of the files, or open them, until he got the go ahead from Lecter," Noonan said. "Lecter's lawyer was contracted through a letter. That letter has since been handed over to forensics and as of this morning was officially verified to be Lecter's handwriting. No prints have been found on the letter or on the envelope."  
  
Several reporters asked for the name of Dr. Lecter's lawyer, both Noonan and Pearsall ignored them and gestured for them to ask the next question.  
  
"Why were these files put away in the first place?" the woman asked before she sat down.  
  
"We haven't determined that as of yet," Noonan paused. "Better ask Dr. Lecter that when we catch him."  
  
A few reports laughed. Another reporter, a man wearing a blue suit stood up from his seat on the left side of the room.  
  
"What efforts are being made in catching Dr. Lecter? What's the progress?"  
  
"Currently we are still following leads and have been able to place him in Italy as recently as November," Noonan looked briefly to Pearsall who muffled a sigh. "Agent Pearsall's task force is working around the clock on this, the trail on Lecter is still fresh and we will find him." Pearsall rolled his eyes slightly.  
  
"Who is on the task force?" A feminine voice from the other side of the room called out.  
  
"Special Agent Clarice Starling and me," Pearsall said looking in the reporter's direction. "We are also have other agents in the field, as well as a joint effort to locate Dr. Lecter in Europe."  
  
There was a low rumble from the reporters at the mentioning of Starling's name. Another reporter raised his hand.  
  
"Starling? She wasn't fired for failing to capture Lecter last summer after two more people were murdered by Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"Absolutely not." Pearsall said firmly. "Agent Starling put her best effort forward into capturing Dr. Lecter, she bravely handcuffed herself to him to prevent him from escaping. He evaded us only by cutting off his own hand, which easily could have been hers."  
  
"Agent Starling is our best agent working on this case, she knows more about Dr. Lecter than anyone. I wouldn't want her working anywhere else." Noonan said.  
  
Inwardly, Pearsall knew better. Noonan wanted Starling off the case and to be pushed aside even further in the Bureau. Noonan believed that Starling had brought nothing but embarrassment to the FBI since the Fish Market disaster. Noonan, and the press, still looked down on Starling's decision to kill Evelda Drummgo.  
  
The following questions went back to the efforts being made to find Dr. Lecter and about Starling's career. None of which Pearsall bothered to answer. He let Noonan give her false praise, he was waiting for a big question to come up. He got his wish.  
  
Suddenly over the heads of the other reports came a voice from the back of the room, it was slow and deliberate while probing and accusing. "Is it true. that the FBI did not originally intend to tell the public about the existence of Lecter's son? That the press had to find out about through an anonymous source who contacted the press through a personal ad?"  
  
Pearsall quickly covered the microphones with his hand and leaned in closer to Noonan. "Fuck. It's Williams."  
  
"Christ," Noonan whispered back.  
  
John Williams was the newest reporter for the _National Tattler_, a publication which, since the murder of Freddy Lounds, had decided to do the reporter homage by covering ever single story related to Dr. Lecter. He was a short man, plain cloths and plain build. He didn't look like he took care of himself but he wasn't over weight. He was not terribly handsome either with mousy brown hair. He always showed up at press conferences unshaven and sans suit and tie. He had won the coveted "Lecter Beat" after being the first reporter for the _Tattler_ to get his hands on a bootleg copy of Renaldo Pazzi's death on video tape. He had only been working with the paper for a week when Pazzi was murdered. He also impressed his editors by sneaking into the Baltimore morgue and took snapshots of Paul Krendler's body, absent of the top of his skull, before an autopsy was preformed. Though his "prize" photographs were never published, they were the only ones outside of law enforcement files that existed.  
  
Williams leaned back in his chair in the back of the room, his tape recorder held up in the direction of Pearsall and Noonan, waiting for an answer.  
  
"Did the FBI ever intend to inform the public about Jerome Lecter's existence or not?" he asked impatiently.  
  
"That is a rumor that was started by the press," Noonan smirked slightly. "Started by your publication, was it not Mr. Williams? Mr. Lecter's name was to be _delayed_ from the press in order to make sure that the young man, and his family, would not be in danger of others who would take it upon themselves to hold Mr. Lecter personally accountable for his father's murders."  
  
"If it was to be '_delayed_' as you put it, why not just tell us about Lecter's son right from the beginning? His name could have been kept from the public. Why did the press have to rely on some whistleblower to tell us what you wouldn't?"  
  
"Which 'whistleblower' would that be?" Pearsall asked.  
  
Williams grinned and leaned further back in his chair.  
  
"I have heard the rumors of this so-called 'informant' or 'whistleblower' who has informed the press about Dr. Lecter's son through the personal ads, again in _your_ publication, Mr. Williams." Noonan said breaking the silence. "At this time, we are conducting an internal investigation as to who it was that contacted the press with that information. If that is it for the day, thank you for coming."  
  
Noonan and Pearsall were on their way out when Williams' voice projected over the rumble of the other reporters.  
  
"Some say it was Lecter himself who contacted the media, what do you say to that?"  
  
Pearsall looked sharply back to Williams and back to Noonan who cleared his throat and stepped forward.  
  
"The FBI has no comment on that rumor, you better get your facts straight before you print that one, Williams."  
  
Pearsall caught up to Noonan in the hall on the way back to his office.  
  
"I didn't hear about that."  
  
"Don't worry about it." Noonan said coolly. "It's just a rumor, you don't investigate rumors, Clint."  
  
"I know that, but you and I both know that internal investigation is a dead end. No one in Behavioral Science, or in my task force, has mentioned a damn thing about Jerome Lecter to anyone, and we're the only ones who knew about him. Hell I didn't even tell my wife."  
  
"I understand that, Clint." Noonan nodded. "I even checked my own messages on my office voicemail to see if someone mentioned something and no one did. We've talked to Lecter's lawyer and he swears he hasn't mentioned a thing to anyone. He didn't even know what was in those files. But the fact still is that it got out there, Clint."  
  
"Hypothetically," Pearsall paused. "What if it had been Lecter? What if he contacted the press and told them about his son?"  
  
Noonan laughed. "It doesn't make sense, why take the time to seal those documents and protect his family when he was just going to release it to the public again?"  
  
"That's exactly what he did by contacting his lawyer. We wouldn't have known about his son, or his wife, without those files." Pearsall stated simply. "He couldn't have hid those files forever. Why else release them in the first place? What if Lecter's trying to contact his son? It's been nineteen years since he's seen him."  
  
Noonan feel silence and then nodded. "If that's true," he added slowly. "Then Starling better tighten her watch on the young man, he might contact him. In the meantime, you need to catch a flight to Gainesville."  
  
* * *  
  
Outside of the FBI Headquarters building, Williams caught up to his partner and fellow photographer, Mark Anderson. He finished packing away his camera and zipped up his carrying case.  
  
"Get everything?" Williams asked as he walked back to his car.  
  
"I got their faces while you asked them questions, also caught both of them leaving." Anderson nodded and handed Williams a cigarette.  
  
"How many 'l's in 'Pearsall'?" Williams asked as he lit the cigarette and wrote down names in his miniature black notebook.  
  
"Two. You really think Lecter was the one who contacted the media?"  
  
"I don't give a shit, I just report and get paid. Anything for a story as long as it brings in money."  
  
"But what if he did?" Anderson asked as he got into Williams' car. "Wouldn't that be crazy?"  
  
"Lecter's all ready fucking nuts, like it would matter? What's another risk to that twisted freak?"  
  
"You find out anything of where Lecter's kid is?"  
  
"No," Williams started the engine of his car and turned on the heater and the radio. "There are some reports of him being sighted in northern Massachusetts. I'm not ready to go all the way up there and find out it's nothing. We can wait a while longer."  
  
Anderson nodded. "What if Lecter tries to contact him?"  
  
"For a photographer, you sure as hell ask a lot of questions." Williams said coldly. "You just take the pictures, I give you credit and _I_ write the stories, right?"  
  
Anderson silently nodded. Williams pulled out and quickly sped away from the FBI Headquarters.  
  
* * *  
  
Night time had descended upon London. The traffic in front of Parliament and the Big Ben had halted to a stand-still. The winter months kept a lot of the tourists away, but there were still so many people in the city of London. More and more people seemed to be walking on the streets rather than taking their own cars. The congestion of the city had returned since the end of the Christmas holiday.  
  
It seemed strange, however, that the restaurant in the Casa Blanca hotel would be crowded on this Tuesday evening. Dr. Ivan Morrison had been successful in reserving his favorite table, but he was forced to push back his dinner time a whole hour. Dr. Morrison decided to take no offense in the delay and happily emerged from his penthouse room at the hotel and come down for supper. He wore his black Valentino suit with metallic blue and purple tie. His white shirt was freshly pressed. Upon passing an elderly dinning couple, the woman was engulfed by a pleasant wave of juniper. Dr. Morrison took great care in making sure that he smelled pleasantly when going out in public.  
  
He sat down at his favorite table and allowed the waiter to cover his lap with a white napkin. Dr. Morrison kept his right hand on the table while his left arm hung at his side. He took great care to keep his left hand protected and hidden, it was always covered with a black leather glove. No one had asked him about it in his last four weeks of staying there in London. He always liked staying in Casa Blanca, he had never been bothered by the hotel staff there.  
  
"Would you care to have a glass of wine before you dine, sir?" the waiter asked.  
  
"Chianti '65 if you have some left," Dr. Morrison smiled pleasantly.  
  
"Of course, Dr. Morrison. Would you care to hear the specials for the evening?"  
  
"No thank you, I'll have the venison with red wine and raspberry sauce and the steamed vegetables."  
  
"Very good sir, and would you like a bottle of our finest red wine along with that?"  
  
"Please," Dr. Morrison smiled under his thick black beard.  
  
Dr. Morrison spoke in a fair and even voice, calm and soothing with a slight American accent. If one were paying attention closely, it could be assumed that he was originally from Virginia, possibly Maryland.  
  
He smiled politely to those seated around him, but he was much more interested in his private thoughts. In his mind, he was listening to Bach, soothing the tension of another day looking for another place that would serve his needs. He had found peace in London. Hong Kong and Tokyo were too crowded, and returning to Florence was a minor disappointment, yet he had been expecting it to be so. As much as he would love to return to Florence and resume his studies at the Capponi Library, he knew he could never return. At least he was able to send his drawings to the widow of the deceased Pazzi.  
  
He smiled at the image of Allegra opening her front door and finding his note. He had been watching her from afar. He almost giggled with delight at the sight of her face drain of blood and her eyes tear up. Lines appeared on her smooth forehead in her distress. Dr. Morrison had been delighted at her pain. It is so much better, he thought to himself, when they have family members who continue to be pained by the past.  
  
Going further into his mind, Dr. Morrison walked through his halls of hanging art work and sculptures. He smiled at all of them but continued on his stroll without stopping as he usually did when he returned to his Mind Palace. He then came to a rendition of the Gustave Doré's "Beatrice and Virgil." He paused before the plate and smiled to himself. He touched Beatrice's hair softly and he was suddenly touching Clarice Starling's hair as he removed a fickle strand of hair from her beautiful cheek as she slumbered peacefully. He then moved on to Doré's portrait of Dante Alighieri. Dr. Morrison's hand moved from Dante's chin to his laurel that surrounded his head. Dr. Morrison's smile brightened in amusement as he looked to his hands, both of them were there. He giggled slightly and then suddenly came to and realized that he was still in public.  
  
No one had heard his momentary glee. Although he had to check his hand. He raised the left hand into his lap and pulled back on the glove slightly. The smooth, soft plastic prosthetic stared back at him blankly, a mockery of his former flesh. He quickly covered his hand again and let it hang limply. He sighed heavily and looked up to see the waiter returning with his meal. Dr. Morrison nodded his thanks as he was served with his meal a glass of Chianti and red wine. Dr. Morrison was anxious for his meal, he kept his pace light and respectful, but inside he was starved. He had been so busy that day that he worked from the time he awoke straight through breakfast and lunch.  
  
Now feeling satisfied, he could feel his shoulders and neck ache and cry for rest. He had been taking it easy in the last six months, he knew he couldn't over-exert himself, he needed rest. A few more weeks and he would be ready to return to the public eye. But for now he decided to remain patient and bide his time before making a return home.  
  
After dinner, Dr. Morrison quietly returned to his room where the house services had cleaned his room and made his bed. His second pair of black leather shoes, freshly polished, had been placed inside his closet along with the hanging pair of freshly dry-cleaned suits. On his desk, where his paper work had been stowed away before he made his way down to dinner, a new copy of _The Washington Post_, _The London Times_ and _The National Tattler_ had been laid out neatly for his evening reading.  
  
He reached to remove his leather glove from his left hand when the bright, bold yellow headline from the _Tattler_ caught his eye: "Manhunt for Lecter continues: Shocking discovery from FBI, Lecter has son." He winced at the sight of his family's name plastered all over the cover of such a publication, but he was pained more deeply by the sight of the Harrington family on the front cover just under the headline.  
  
Dr. Morrison retrieved the paper with his good hand and stared at the picture. The Harrington's were rushing through a barrage of photographers on their way to the family car. No doubt off to mass, Dr. Morrison thought to himself. All of the children held closely to each other and their parents while Luke and Dana lead them through to their car. Sure enough, in the back of the group, fitting in quite naturally was a young man who matched his father's build and cold stare. The young man was holding onto the elderly daughter's hand, Dr. Morrison could tell there was a great closeness between the two of them. Dr. Morrison moved the picture closer to the light, he was thrilled to see Luke again, but he was breathless upon viewing the young Lecter. His eyes glazed a bit as he stared at him, he could almost guess what scent he was wearing at the time of the photograph.  
  
Wasting not a moment more, Dr. Morrison tore through the magazine and found the article on his estranged family. He felt so odd, reading the names of his own kinsmen in a tabloid magazine, he suddenly felt as if he were any other _Tattler_ reader, disrespectfully peering into the lives of this poor family, but the awkwardness didn't last as he came to another set of photos of Jerome Lecter. The young man's senior year photo had been donated to the _Tattler_. Jerome adorned a relaxed, posed, smile in his dark suit and white shirt. The tie was a metallic navy blue. Jerome's eyes were a piercing green, like his mothers. Yet there was something of his father in him, the look the young man gave made one feel as if the young Lecter was peering into the soul of the observer.  
  
The second photo was of Jerome Lecter with the Harrington family, it was no doubt a rather dull Christmas family photo, but nevertheless Jerome fit in well with this family. There was a strong resemblance between Luke and Jerome, Dr. Morrison was sure that there had been a few times, especially in Jerome's youth, when the two of them had been mistaken for father and son. Luke had aged pleasantly, as did Dana, she was still as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. The other four children, however, he did not know. Yet he could see both of their parents in their features, especially the youngest two, these were Luke and Dana's children. Jerome Lecter had adapted well into the Harrington family, Dr. Morrison couldn't be more pleased with his choice of guardians.  
  
A grin crossed Dr. Morrison's face, the young man was so handsome and pleasant. His only regret was that he could not hear Jerome's voice. Was it deep and cultured with a soothing under-tone? Was there an accent? He was well mannered, Dr. Morrison was sure of it, but was he a reader? So many curious questions, all of them he had written down on a list he had made in his head. He would go through each question when he finally met with the young man. It wouldn't be long now before Dr. Morrison would return to the United States.  
  
* * *  
  
And old favorite and a new character in the same chapter. Gee. I wonder who Dr. Ivan Morrison really is. Jerome and Clarice will be coming back shortly, but I felt that I should spend some time away from them for a while. Please let me know what you think, I enjoy reading the criticism, praise, encouragement, and whatever else you can think of. 


	9. Dual Return

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 9 "Dual Return"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R, adult language.  
  
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters. I should mention that this chapter makes reference to the "Venable Plaza" in Boston, Massachusetts; there is no Venable Plaza Hotel. This location is fictitious place mentioned in _The X-Files_ (so don't sue me for that one). nor for the mention of Aphrodite Jones's true crime novel: _The Embrace_.  
  
Author's Notes: Will Graham struggles with the conflict of returning to the FBI and Dr. Morrison makes a return to familiar stomping grounds. The manhunt for Lecter continues as Dr. Lecter begins his efforts to reunite with his son.  
  
* * *  
  
Josh Graham sat on the front porch of the house he shared with his father in Gainesville, Florida. Winter is nothing to fear down south and Josh decided to enjoy the afternoon sunshine while finishing his latest true crime novel. He was more than half way through Aphrodite Jones's _The Embrace_ when Special Agent Clint Pearsall pulled into the front driveway. Josh briefly glanced up from his reading and instantly figured the visitor was with the FBI.  
Pearsall walked up to the bottom steps of the front porch and politely waited for Josh to invite him up under the shade.  
"You with the FBI?" Josh asked without looking up from his reading.  
"Special Agent Pearsall," he took out his badge. "I'm from D.C. Is your father Will Graham?"  
"Yep." Josh nodded. "Let me guess, you've come all the way down here to get him back on the Lecter case."  
There was no surprise in Josh's voice; he had been expecting someone from the north to come down sooner or later. He and his father had watched the news conference together the previous day. Although his father didn't say a thing, Josh knew his father was devoting more and more of his free time to thinking about Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Josh had been watching his father carefully since the conference. Will would pass by the front window and look out into the street. From the expression on his face Josh could tell that his father was expecting a car filled with federal agents to pull into the front lawn. Although Josh could never be sure of his father, he suspected that Will was hoping that they would come.  
Pearsall didn't respond. He simply shifted on his feet.  
"He isn't home right now," Josh put down his book and gestured for Pearsall to come under the shade. "Wait for him. I'm sure if he wanted to refuse to come back to the FBI, he'd rather do it face to face with a man from Washington rather than scream at you over the phone."  
Pearsall nodded and stepped under the shade to sit down in the chair next to the front door.  
"My Dad already spoke to the Tampa Bay field office, he told them he didn't want to be bothered."  
"I know." Pearsall nodded. "You don't look too surprised to see me, someone call and tell you that I was coming?"  
"No one called. I figured it would take about this time before someone in the D.C. office would be sent down. To be honest with you, Agent Pearsall, I was expecting Jack Crawford. But then again, Special Agent Clarice Starling is supposedly the leading authority on Dr. Lecter. Why didn't she come down here?"  
"She's had some personal experience with Lecter, but nothing like what your father has gone through." Pearsall cleared his throat and then changed the subject. "She's on an assignment."  
Pearsall looked down to the table next to Josh; the surface was covered with _Tattler_ magazines and cut-out articles covering the Lecter case.  
"Your Dad know you have all that stuff?"  
"Nope." Josh shook his head and looked up to watch a car pass by his house. "He would insist that I throw all of it out. I keep it in a folder locked away in my desk upstairs. I've been collecting them since last May."  
"Why bring it all out now?"  
"It might help you."  
"Help me do what?"  
"Convince him to come back to work." Josh looked over to Pearsall. "That's why you're here aren't you?"  
"I don't know why I'm here." Pearsall admitted. "I was asked to speak with your father, to see if he might change his mind. I don't feel like I have to convince him of anything."  
"You don't really have to convince him to come back," Josh shook his head. "Dad wants to help, I know it, but he's just so scared of getting back into the game. He's afraid that Dr. Lecter might win this time."  
"I don't blame him." He paused. "How do you know he wants to help?"  
"Ever since the hunt for Lecter started to heat up again, he's been trying to get into Lecter's head. He's been thinking about him a whole lot lately."  
"Has he been talking to you about it?"  
"No," Josh shook his head. "He's been drinking a lot more. When he drinks as much as he does now, he's either thinking about Mom or Dr. Lecter. He's been watching the news more too, watching all the updates on the hunt for Lecter. He even watched the news conference the other day. He's been thinking about getting back into the hunt, I'm sure of it."  
"Your father has a gift. He's one of the greatest profilers that have ever worked for the FBI."  
"That's a good line." Josh smiled slightly. "Make sure you say that to him when you talk to him."  
"I can't convince him to come back to work," Pearsall loosened his tie.  
"I already told you that you didn't have to. He wants to come back. The only reason why he hasn't come to you offering to help is because of me, and I can take care of myself."  
Josh wasn't defensive; it was more of a simple statement. Josh had been taking care of himself and his father since the death of his mother. However, he would be leaving for school the following week. Once Josh left, Graham would have no reason to hold back.  
"I know he wants to come back, he wants to help."  
"Does he know about Lecter's son?"  
"Who doesn't? It's everywhere," he looked down to his stack of papers. "All the magazines and news programs have been reporting it. That's where Agent Starling is, isn't she? She's protecting him."  
"It's for the best. He might know something about Dr. Lecter that we don't. But we still need your father's help too, he caught Lecter before."  
"He could do it again," Josh nodded. "This time, I don't think my father would hesitate for one moment before killing Lecter."  
"I can't blame him for that either." Pearsall said quietly.  
"Without me here, Dad won't have a reason to stay. He knows that he can be a huge help to finding Lecter, but he just needs a little push. His biggest fear is that he would be betraying my mother."  
"What does she have to say about all of this?"  
Josh stood from his chair and slowly approached the railing. "She's dead." Josh didn't turn around to face Pearsall. "It's been a few years now, but he's still hurting. We both are."  
"I'm sorry." Pearsall looked down to his black leather shoes.  
"So am I." Josh said softly. "But this would give him a reason to leave the house, to get out there and help people. He has always loved to help other people, he used to tell me it was the best part about being an FBI agent. He just needs to be reminded of how much good he would be doing by getting back out there."  
Josh turned to face Pearsall who nodded solemnly.  
A black Jeep Wrangler pulled up into the driveway behind Josh. Will Graham got out of the driver's seat and pulled two groceries bags from the back seat and headed towards the house. Josh came down the steps and took the bags. Graham looked past his son to Pearsall who stood from his chair and took out his badge to present to Graham.  
"Did Jack Crawford retire or is he just too lazy to come down here and beg me to come back himself?" he asked as he joined Pearsall on the porch.  
There was a playful tone in Graham's voice. He had been expecting the Bureau to send out agents to come to his home, especially after his visit to the Tampa Bay field office. Apart of Will Graham was actually eager to see if the FBI would send the man who had talked Graham out of retirement last time, Jack Crawford. Deep down he was actually looking forward to seeing his old friend again.  
Graham had not seen Crawford since after he was released from the hospital after his personal encounter with Francis Dolarhyde. He knew that Molly did not particularly care for Crawford and decided to distance himself from him for Molly's sake. There were occasional letters and Christmas cards. He had heard about the death Crawford's wife, Bella, and sent a sympathy card. Crawford wrote less and less to Graham after her death. Graham then backed further away from his former friend and dropped all contact with him after Molly's death. Since the hunt for Lecter had been reactivated, Graham had been hoping for a phone call or visit from him.  
"Jack Crawford passed away a couple of years ago," Pearsall said softly and extended his hand. "Clint Pearsall, I work out of the D.C. office. I'm running the task force to capture Lecter."  
Graham looked to his son who quickly turned and went inside the house to leave the two of them alone. Graham didn't bother to shake Pearsall's hand which dropped slowly to his side.  
"I didn't know about Jack," Graham looked down to the front steps. "We lost touch with each other after his wife died. Then Molly." he cleared his throat.  
"We tried to contact you with the address Jack had listed for you, I know a letter was sent shortly after Jack's death."  
"We moved from that house," Graham shook his head. "He knew not to write to the house, I have a P. O. Box that he could reach me by, but he rarely did."  
He then noticed the news paper clippings and articles on Lecter.  
"Brought some reinforcements I see," Graham sighed as he changed the subject. "They tell you to resort to anything to get me back?"  
"I didn't bring those." Pearsall shook his head. "Your son said his collection might be helpful though. And yes, they told me that I wasn't to return home empty handed. Anything goes."  
"Do me a favor and don't start off with that 'you could save lives' bullshit," Graham put up a hand. "I said the same damn thing to my wife the last time I worked with you people and it nearly cost my family their lives."  
"How about if I offer you a chance to kill Lecter?" Pearsall smiled slightly. "I would think that would be enough of an enticement to get you back."  
"You do have me there." Graham nodded, a soft smile crossing his lips. "There's nothing I would love more than to kill that son-of-a-bitch. But in order to do that, you need him caught first. It's easy enough for you and your task force to just follow the trail Lecter leaves behind, but I'm the one who actually has to crawl around the fucker's head and see what makes him tick. And that's just to find him, how to catch him is something completely different."  
"You can leave that to us, we just need to find him. Follow the trail as you say, but we're missing something. Jack believed, and I do too, that you're the one who can pick-up what we're missing."  
"It's not that simple." Graham shook his head. "You have those files. That's as much information as he will let you have. But those files don't have enough information in them, Lecter was careful about that. If he gave you anymore than what you all ready know, then you might find a way to catch him. We both know he will do anything to avoid that."  
Pearsall had heard great things about Will Graham from Crawford, Graham had always been praised as the FBI's greatest profiler. The wheels in Graham's mind turned on such a level that could be called nothing other than brilliance. He was gifted in the ability to see what others might not, to find clues that could lead to the capture of the most dangerous of violent criminals. Graham has always humbly stated that his discoveries were "all ready there for anyone to find," yet Crawford, and his superiors, had always told him that "no one else _could_ see them," except for Graham. Now, as Pearsall sat on the front porch of the retired FBI agent, he could finally see what Crawford had been telling him for years.  
"But he did give us something," Pearsall was trying to hide his awe of Graham by contesting him. "Lecter gave us his son. Surely that would be a weakness to him. As much as he wants to protect himself, wouldn't he want to protect his son more?"  
Graham smiled broadly. "The main problem with that theory is thinking that Lecter is like anyone else, a normal, rational man. He's not. Dr. Lecter is a monster and I can't see him sacrificing his precious freedom for a son he had abandoned over nineteen years ago."  
"Then what about his pride?" Pearsall leaned back in his chair. "His paternal pride?"  
Graham glanced over to the door where he could see Josh crossing the room over to the sofa to sit and finish reading his book. Josh was always reading true crime books. He loved to learn the inner workings of criminal investigations. Everything from the people involved, their thoughts and actions, to the detailed events of the crime. All of which he could picture his father doing, Josh thought of his father's keen insight as a secret weapon in law enforcement. Josh wished he could have the same. Graham involuntarily smirked at his son. He recalled the revelation he had upon first hearing about Dr. Lecter's son, Graham was suddenly reminded of the thought that Lecter was a father.  
_Do you know how you caught me, Will?... Because we are most alike._  
He could hear Lecter's voice ringing in his ears. Both Will Graham and Dr. Lecter were family men, men whose imaginations equaled, if not matched, the brilliant minds of the composers, artists and poets that Lecter had so aptly studied in his youth. Would both men have an equal weakness in their sons? The pride they had in their offspring, would that drive them to foolishly risk their lives to protect them? Graham knew he would give up his life for his son in an instant, his confrontation with Dolarhyde had proven that to both of them. Was Lecter as equally willing to fight for the safety of his own son? To put his life at stake so that his son might live? Graham suddenly pushed these thought from his mind.  
"Again, you're assuming that Dr. Lecter is an ordinary man, he's a monster. His freedom means more to him than his son." Graham met Pearsall's eyes briefly. "Do you remember what Jack used to say about assuming? 'When you assume you make an ass.'"  
"'Out of you and me.'" Pearsall nodded. "I remember."  
"But you're not convinced? You think that Dr. Lecter will risk it all and try to make contact with his son despite the fact that the entire world is watching him at the moment?"  
Pearsall's face then changed, he was struck again with the thought that all the attention given to Jerome Lecter had been caused by Dr. Lecter himself. Graham caught on to Pearsall's concentration and watched him more carefully.  
"The world wouldn't have known about Jerome if it hadn't been for Dr. Lecter." Pearsall stated simply.  
Graham shook his head and shrugged slightly. "That's a typical Lecter move, he's calling attention to himself posthumously. He's showing off the fact that, once again, no one has been able to peg Dr. Lecter down. No one's been able to figure him out. He's been diagnosed as an antisocial, one who doesn't give a damn about others, yet we find out years later that he had a family. Dr. Lecter does not fit the mold of any previously studied serial killer and he wants to constantly remind us of that. He was able to disappear for so long, now that he's back in the public spotlight he wants to continue to taunt us. His son is being used as a pawn, a way to create enough noise so that we don't forget about him, just so that everyone can be reminded that he was the one who was able to get away. That he's smarter than us."  
"Would that make you smarter than him, since you were the one who caught him?" Pearsall was unaware of how familiar that statement sounded to Graham.  
Graham's eyes glazed over. "What did you come out here for? To waste my time?" he asked harshly.  
"We need to catch him, we can agree on that can't we?"  
"Why do you need me? And don't you dare tell me it's because I caught him the last time. He nearly killed me, twice, I am not going to make my son an orphan by coming back a third time so I suggest you make you point quickly."  
"Lecter will try to make contact with his son, I'm sure of it. Using your words, if he succeeds at making contact with him it will be one more thing to hold over out heads. Another thing that will prove just how much smarter he really is. We need you to help us find out how he would do it, trap him and get him locked up for good. We could end it, but we aren't going to get far without your help." Pearsall then added more coyly, "Who knows, you might even come into a position where the only possible way to recapture Lecter is by putting a bullet in his brain."  
"You believe he would foolishly risk his freedom just to get in touch with someone he abandoned almost twenty years ago?"  
"The way I see it, Mr. Graham, Dr. Lecter didn't abandon his son. His incarceration forced him to leave his son." Pearsall took a step closer to Graham and spoke softly. "It is true that Dr. Lecter is responsible for his own incarceration, he was the one who decided to kill all those people and he is obligated to suffer the legal and moral consequences of his crimes. I've known too many criminals who have escaped punishment and risked their freedom simply because they were hell-bent on returning to their private lives.  
"Lecter fled from captivity and established a whole new life in Florence where he could satisfy his "sense of taste" and cultural interests. He risked capture there for the things he loved, things that meant something to him. Why wouldn't he do that for his own son?"  
"You're assuming that Lecter loves something other than himself." Graham said bluntly.  
"I'll agree with you that Lecter is a monster and that he lacks rational thought, but the fact remains that we only know about Jerome because Dr. Lecter allowed us to know about him. I see that as proof that Jerome means something to him and it may be the simple fact that Jerome is _his_ son, that the boy belongs to no one else but him."  
Graham stared at Pearsall for several moments before smirking. "Anything else you want to say? Anything else you think might help seal the deal?"  
Pearsall glanced over to the collection of articles on Lecter and smiled. "Jack Crawford said you are the best profiler the FBI has ever known. I've read you work, I've seen the files, and I'm inclined to agree. You are the best."  
  
* * *  
  
"Aren't you even going to think about it?"  
"No." Graham shook his head as he paced from one side of the room to the other. "I told them that I can't go through it again. I've made my decision."  
"You can help them. You can help them catch him, I seriously doubt that they would be foolish to leave him so unattended the next time."  
"No."  
"Maybe he wouldn't even allow himself to be taken alive, it may end in a situation where you would have no other choice but to kill him."  
"If that were to happen, Josh, then that would mean Dr. Lecter would have me in an ultimatum between my life and his." He said sarcastically. "But I'm not going back so there is no way he can get me in that position. Even if I was, I won't plan on getting so close."  
"What about others? He's killed two people since he came back to the United States. God knows how many others he's murdered since he left, are you just going to let the body count rise?" Josh was standing face to face with his father now in the living room.  
Pearsall had left nearly an hour ago after Graham had refused to come back. Josh had heard every single word the two of them discussed while out in the front of his house and he decided to confront his father on the mistake he had made. Josh knew his father had to go back to work.  
"Don't try to guilt me, I am not responsible for anything Lecter does. I do not have to be the one responsible for his recapture."  
"You know Lecter better than anyone, are you just going to walk away and leave them without a clue?"  
"Believe me, Josh, the FBI is not lacking in criminal profilers. They have an entire unit full of them over there, they do not need me to rummage through his clues just so I can hand in a typed report informing them that he had just screwed them again and evaded capture."  
"Do you really think that's all you can do for them, Dad? Do you think that you can't help them in any way?" Josh folded his arms in front of his chest.  
"When in the hell did you start questioning me? What do you want me to say, Josh? That I can capture Lecter again? That I can stop drinking, crawl out of the gutter and become a hero again?"  
Josh sighed and took a seat in the reclining chair in front of their television set. He watched his father move into the kitchen and reach for the refrigerator. Not seeing what he had come for, he slammed shut the door and moved towards the pantry. He slammed that door shut as well and marched back into the living room and stared coldly at Josh who knew exactly what his father would be asking next.  
"I had a six pack in the fridge this morning, where is it?"  
"I poured it down the sink." Josh said firmly. "You're not drinking anymore."  
Graham leaned back on his heels and stared down at his son.  
"I'm not going back."  
"I don't care if you do or not, Dad. You're not drinking anymore. You promised me and you promised Mom." Josh stood up quickly and faced his father. "And if you think that you can just walk away with a clear conscious from Lecter and this case, you're wrong. I know you. I know deep down you want to do something, you want to help. I don't believe for a minute that you ever stopped caring about your job. I know you're scared of Lecter, no one blames you for that, least of all me. But you have to do something, you cannot just hide here and hope that he will go away, he won't. You know that. He's going to keep killing and he will do anything he can to avoid being captured. They may all expect that you'll be the one who brings him in again, maybe you will. Maybe you won't." Josh's voice was getting softer now. "Maybe this time Lecter will die, maybe he won't. But if you just stick around here, doing nothing when you know that you could help, even in the smallest way, it is worse than going out there and facing your fear."  
Josh then turned his back on his father and was halfway down the hallway to his bedroom when he turned around and looked at his father again. "You used to be my hero because I thought you were fearless, I was young then and didn't realize that you were human. Now I know you _are_ human and that you have a gift, one that many, including myself, are in awe of and it's okay to be afraid of something. I respect you for that, I don't love you any less for that either. You're still my hero."  
Josh then turned and disappeared into his room leaving his father in the living room alone. Staring down the hallway at his son's bedroom door, Graham's mind went blank and he moved outside to the table and chairs on the porch. Josh's magazine clippings were still there, kept grounded to the table by small rocks used as paperweights.  
Under one of the table legs was a dusty and worn out yellow folder Josh had been keeping the articles in. He started to go through each article, reading each headline, and returned them to the file. Many of them were the front page stories concerning the deaths of Inspector Renaldo Pazzi, Mason Verger and Paul Krendler. Most of them dated from six months ago. The more recent articles concerned the discovery of the missing files Lecter had stored away, the ongoing manhunt for Lecter and with a few on Special Agent Clarice Starling. Graham remembered the name from the Buffalo Bill case, young FBI trainee seeking the help of notorious serial killer, Dr. Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter. Starling was the first woman that Graham knew of to bravely venture down into the dungeon to speak with him. All of Dr. Lecter's human contacts while in custody had been male since the attack on the nurse in his early years of incarceration.  
Graham suddenly recalled one of the news stories he had watched after Lecter escaped that featured a segment on Starling and ran briefly down her career. An agent who once had a promising career in the FBI under the wing of Jack Crawford, a _student_ who had saved the life of the daughter of Senator Ruth Martian, killed Jame Gumb before he could claim one more skin; all of this weeks before her graduation from Quantico. Impressive. Yet, after all the glory and congratulations for a job well done, Starling become one of many female agents who were given the short end of the stick and assigned to several rather droll assignments involving the arrest of known drug dealers. Had it not been for the Fish Market killings, Starling would have been slowly, but surely, forgotten about by both her superiors and the press.  
In an ironic twist of fate, Starling's name resurfaced in the press light in the most unflattering of ways. She had been labeled "a cold blooded FBI killing machine," and an "agent gone mad." Graham smirked to himself, he knew FBI politics. He was sure that she had done _exactly_ what the FBI had trained her to do, but blame had to be assigned somewhere and Graham knew that the FBI was not about to risk a lawsuit by pinning blame among the dead. No, it had to be a living agent, someone who could easily be picked out of the crowd. Why not Starling?  
Graham wondered if she had a history of intimidating her superiors. Was she the type of agent who could walk down the halls with her head held high, not letting any of the bad press effect her? He was sure of it. She was a student of Crawford, she had to have picked up his indifferent attitude, she had to have known that she did nothing wrong. And now she was back on the Lecter case. Why? To help her redeem her good name by hunting down a man who had been missing for the last ten years? No, Graham decided that her superiors must have known that it was a dead end. Perhaps they just wanted to give her enough work to keep her from the press; in essence, for her never to be put in a position where she could embarrass the FBI again. But that hadn't happened according to script, Starling took the Lecter assignment and _found_ something. Against all odds, she found him and almost captured him. She hadn't failed either, she had gotten far closer to Lecter than he would have ever dared.  
"Brave woman." Graham muttered and looked around to make sure his son hadn't heard him.  
As he continued through the clippings, he pieced together the most recent events. Dr. Lecter's family had been discovered just before Christmas after Lecter himself supposedly gave permission to his lawyer to uncover previously locked away records. The purpose of which was unknown. Graham doubted Dr. Lecter's reasons would be clearly understood any time soon. As for the son, Jerome Lecter, he had been put under close watch by the FBI who assigned none other than Clarice Starling to guard him.  
After looking through each clipping it was clear to Graham that the FBI was desperate to find Lecter. Krendler's death had cost them credibility in the eyes of a public who were demanding Lecter's blood. The fact that over ten years had passed since Hannibal Lecter had been tucked away behind bars, and six more people, that they knew of, had fallen victim to Lecter, the public and the families of the victims were simply feed up. Lecter had to be found, Graham wouldn't argue with that, but he still felt unnerved with the idea of going back to the FBI after so long. His own words suddenly echoed back into his mind, "_I have a chance to help save some lives._" He and his wife had been arguing about whether or not he should go back to work with Crawford and hunt for a serial killer who had murdered two whole families in Birmingham and Atlanta.  
Lost in his thoughts, Graham involuntarily touched the scars on his chest and stomach, the wounds Dolarhyde had left him with after firing his weapon on him. Graham shook the memory away and closed his eyes. He knew he had to go back, he knew he could help them.  
"_I have a chance to save some lives._" He heard himself say again.  
"_You can help them catch him. Are you going to let the body count rise?_" Now his son's voice echoed in his ears. He sunk lower in his chair and heard the screen door open behind him. Josh took a seat on the floor between his father and the door.  
"I'm sorry." Josh said softly. "I shouldn't have questioned you. I'm sorry, Dad."  
Graham slowly and steadily breathed in and out before he spoke.  
"No, don't apologize." Graham looked down at his son sitting on the ground. "You were right, I have a chance to help catch him."  
Josh's eyes lit up and Graham nodded.  
"I can't sit here and wait for it to be all over. Next week, after you go back to school, I'd just be here alone." He shook his head. "There's so much more I could offer." He added softly. Graham turned and faced his son. "I'm going back."  
  
* * *  
  
Dr. Ivan Morrison yawned slightly as his cab pulled up to the curb of the Venable Plaza Hotel in Boston. He smiled slightly at the cab driver as he tipped him and took his two suitcases into the lobby. The receptionist, a short woman with blonde hair in her early twenties, smiled broadly as he checked himself in.  
"Dr. Ivan Morrison, reservations with the University of Boston for the English and Communications Convention."  
"Yes, Dr. Morrison, your suite is ready. You're one of the first to show up." The receptionist typed in his name into her electronic register and had him sign the guest book. "Do you have a pamphlet for the convention times?"  
"Yes, Dr. Anderson was kind enough to mail me one." He patted his front suit pocket. "Everything will be taking place in the ball room, correct?"  
"Yes, sir. The only thing that has changed on the itinerary is the time for the poetry readings which have been moved back one hour to allow more time for the essay presentations."  
"Thank you." His smile was pleasant and warm despite his exhaustion from the day's traveling from Heathrow to JFK and then on to Logan International.  
"And you will be in room 219 on the second floor, here is your key." She slid him his electronic key pass. He took it quickly with his right hand. "Our restaurant closed about a half-hour ago but the kitchen is still open. Call house services at extension 13 to leave an order for anything that you might need. Enjoy your stay with us, Dr. Morrison."  
"Thank you very much." He smiled and headed towards the elevators at the right of the reception desk.  
Dr. Morrison had been keeping track of the job opportunities at Boston College for the past five months. A month ago, he found that there was a recent opening within the English Department with a specific call for educators with a Ph.D. and a thorough knowledge of classic literature. Dr. Morrison got his foot in the door with the head of the English Department at Boston College, Dr. Greg Anderson, when he sent in an application via email that built himself up as an adjunct-professor at Oxford University for the past three years. He also included a sample lecture in which he discussed the character of Odysseus as found in Homer's _Odyssey_ and in the eighth ring of Dante's _Inferno_. The lecture had impressed Dr. Anderson so much that a regular correspondence began between the two men.  
Eager to hire Dr. Morrison, Dr. Anderson had invited him to come for a personal interview during the Boston College's annual convention for English and Communication's majors. Dr. Morrison would be a special guest of the college and have a chance to not only give a formal interview but meet many of the professors in the department. Dr. Anderson also felt this meeting would give him the perfect chance to showcase many of the brightest English students studying at Boston College. Dr. Anderson had done everything, including paying for Dr. Morrison's passage in full, but had not yet handed over the teaching position. However, Dr. Morrison was sure that a personal meeting, face to face, would win him the job.  
Reaching his room he closed the door without turning on the light and allowed himself to be swallowed by the darkness. He stood in the doorway which connected to the main chamber of the room by a small passageway. Walking further into the room, he put his suitcases down next to the sofa which was to his left and the bed to his right. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found the lamp that sat on the corner table to the right of the bed and turned it on. The room was decorated in whites and yellows with gold fixtures. Dr. Morrison nodded with approval as he continued in his inspection.  
The bed, which beckoned to him in his weary state, was a king size mattress with white sheets. Across the room from the bed was a sitting area complete with two full sized sofas, a lounge chair, coffee table and television. Behind the television, facing towards the front door, was a large oak desk complete with telephone and keys to the top drawers. Behind Morrison, to the left of the bed, was the bathroom and closet. Opposite the front door were two large windows which were covered by large white drapes. Dr. Morrison was pleased with the room and took off his coat and laid it down on the bed.  
He crossed the room to his bag and took out a small bag from one of his leather cases and picked up the phone to call down to the kitchen.  
"Good evening, this is Dr. Morrison in room 219. I would like to order something to eat if I may?"  
The operator took down his order for a simple steak and vegetable dinner with a bottle of red wine. Dr. Morrison then got out of his dark suit and undid his red metallic tie and entered into the bathroom with his small bag. He stood in front of the large mirror and opened his small carrying case. Inside was a box of hair dye, a beard tripper and electric shaver. Dr. Morrison observed himself in the mirror and scratched his rough bread thoughtfully. With the beard trimmer he removed most of his facial hair and left his upper lip and chin unshaven.  
He ran his right hand through his salt and pepper colored hair and removed a larger pair of clippers from his bag. Cutting his own hair left him with half his previous hair length, any shorter and he would have only an inch left to cover his head. He removed a pair of plastic gloves from the box and snorted. He would only require one. His lifeless left hand was wrapped in its leather glove. With the aid of his teeth, he was able to get one of the plastic gloves onto his right hand. Turning on the water and taking the hair dye, Dr. Morrison transformed himself into his former self.  
The man who stared back at him once he was finished was the fugitive Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He was happy to see his hair return to its previous color of black, he felt much younger than he had when he could see the white freely mixing in with the dark color. It had sent chills down his spine to see the white spread from his sides and back to his entire head. While in Florence, he decided to start dying his hair. It was after his last visit to the United States that he decided to leave his hair go, the less he looked like his mug shot the better. He was confident that no one would be able to recognize him with the slight changes he had been able to make over the last six months. While he might be able to pull the wall over the eyes of others, he was sure that he would never be able to fool Clarice Starling. Dr. Lecter smiled slightly at his new image and cleaned the mess in the bathroom before stripping free of his t-shirt and shorts, getting rid of any evidence of his hair trimmings. He tightly wadded the cloths together and stuffed them into the small bag along with the clippers and moved them to the corner for later disposal.  
With his remaining time he was able to take in a quick shower and clad himself in the hotel's complementary robe before room service arrived at his door. _Wonderful,_ he thought to himself as he approached the door, _I haven't eaten all day._  
  
* * *  
  
Thanks to all who have been faithfully reading and reviewing, more is on the way in less time than before. I do apologize for the time between the updates. The next chapter will shift the focus of the story back to Jerome Lecter and Clarice Starling, but I wanted to be sure that I got Will Graham and Dr. Lecter back into the story, both will have important roles in future chapters. Please let me know what you think so far and don't forget to list any criticisms and/or suggestions you might have. Praise and encouragement also welcome, my mailbox is open for anything.  
  
I would also like to give a special thanks to Holly Graham who has, once again, given me the best advice on writing the character of Will Graham. Thank you very much Holly, I appreciate all that you have helped me with and I hope that you'll stick around to continue to help me. 


	10. Pull of Gravity

Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"  
  
Chapter 10 "Pull of Gravity"  
  
Author: Jerome Mullins  
  
Rating: R, adult language and later for adult situations.  
  
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.  
  
Author's Notes: It's about time that I get back to the heart of this story, the budding romance between Jerome Lecter and Clarice Starling. While there haven't been any fireworks yet, the sparks are flying. Meanwhile, Dr. Lecter gravitates closer and closer to a reunion with his son.  
  
I should also mention that I have used the titles _Rosemary's Baby_ and _The Omen_ without permission. If you are reading this Mr. Ira Levin (which I doubt) I do apologize. Please don't sue me.  
  
This chapter is in dedication to my dearest and closest friends in the entire world; Dell, Carla, Mike the Greater, and Mike the Lesser who are the inspirations for the characters in Jerome's circle of friends later met in this chapter. Thank you for permission to use you, gents and Carla; I hope I have done you justice and have not offended any of you.  
  
* * *  
  
"I understand _why_ you have to go back, but I just don't understand why _now_." Jerome grunted as he finished knotting his tie in the bathroom mirror.  
"My boss has called me back to Washington for a couple of days, I will be back." She said as she continued to pack her things back into her suitcase. "You can't get rid of me that easily," she added softly.  
"Who would ever want to be rid of you?" Jerome leaned back to smile at her and then went back to the mirror. "_They_ were the ones who assigned you to come out here, now they want you to go back and leave me completely unguarded."  
"First of all, you aren't going to be completely unguarded; the school has been notified about your situation and has added on extra security, so you should feel special. Second of all, I have to go back because they've added another member on to the task force to find your father. I'm to go back to report in and get this new agent up to date. You do want us to find your father, don't you?"  
"Of course," Jerome replied. "But you've been sending them reports everyday, you're keeping them well informed. What good would it do to have you go back there and just repeat everything you already told them?" he sounded a little impatient, almost hurt.  
Since their walk together that night, Clarice Starling and Jerome Lecter had begun to spend much more time together. No one in the family seemed to notice the quick and playful banter between the two of them, nor the looks and gentle touches. They didn't even seem to notice it themselves. Not right away at least. It had seemed all too natural for the both of them to carry on that way. They had become so comfortable with each other that they spent more time alone down in his basement room where he would read while she worked. They watched a few movies together up in the family room and down in the basement via the DVD player installed in his notebook computer. They took walks and actually ventured into town together with the whole family for dinner, but most of the time they would talk alone in the basement.  
It was a far cry from the dank and moist dungeon where she had first met Jerome's father. At first Starling had been hesitant to talk with Jerome, fearful that their discussions would turn towards unfavorable topics. Topics where Jerome would unconsciously slip into a mocking and probing tone. Times when he would sound all too much like his father, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He had done that a few times before since they met just before Christmas; when she drove him home to his uncle and aunt's home from Boston College after they first met and when she had first arrived to the winter house and sat alone in the living room with him. She had not been offended either time when his words and playfulness had sounded all too much like his father, but she much rather preferred his words, his genuine insight and banter. Starling had fallen for a Lecter, and it wasn't Hannibal. She wasn't sure yet how to feel about it so she pushed these feelings aside, for the time being at least.  
Starling stood from the bed and walked over to the bathroom door and looked in, she leaned against the door frame to watch as he straightened his blue silk tie and smoothed the wrinkles from his long sleeve blue shirt. She was quite fond of watching him.  
"You're going to miss me, aren't you?" a smile crossed her face.  
Jerome turned to face her and slit his eyes slightly, "That would be incredibly territorial of me."  
"You're falling for me aren't you?" she teased. "Not that you could really help it, I mean, I _am_ irresistible."  
Jerome smiled slightly and shook his head. "I'm. _fond_ of you."  
"'Fond' of me-you're a horrible liar." She gently shoved his shoulder and went back to her packing.  
"I would hope so," Jerome finished grooming and stepped into the room and took up his dark navy suit and draped it over his arm. "I was raised better than that. Women don't fall in love with liars."  
"They don't?" her smile widened.  
"I should rephrase that," he turned to face her.  
"I think that might be best." She nodded.  
"Women don't want to be _lied_ to. They don't want to be deceived." He corrected himself. "No one does."  
Starling nodded and packed away her notebook computer while Jerome gathered his notes together into a yellow folder and tucked it into his brown leather briefcase along with copies of Dante's _Inferno_ and _La Vita Nuova_. Two books which rarely left his sight.  
"Can I ask you something?"  
"Please do." Jerome glanced over to her quickly while he continued to pack.  
"Are you afraid of your father?"  
His father. A topic she had not dared to bring up before, she had always avoided it on the grounds that she did not want to offend him. She had a few times, only a very few, and they had been brief comments that went no farther than a quick mention of his name. The truth was she just didn't want to think about him. She would do her job and look at the evidence, learn everything she could about the subject, just as Crawford had taught her, but she never wanted him in her thoughts on her off time. Not since she began spending more time with Jerome. Yet, with all the time spent not talking about him and not wanting to think about him, he was always there. She recalled the answer she had given Barney when he asked her if she ever thought of him-  
_"At least thirty seconds everyday. he's still there with me, like a bad habit."_  
Within these last few days, the question had built up within her. She had never really asked him, truly asked him, how he felt about his own father. The man who is partly responsible for his existence. She had to know, no matter how uncomfortable it might make either of them. She had to know.  
"No." Jerome shook his head. "I have no reason to be, I've never come face to face with him."  
"Are you afraid that you might someday?" Starling had stopped packing and was now sitting on the foot of the bed watching him.  
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I might not be calm if I ever came close too him, I don't think anyone could. Especially knowing what he's capable of."  
Jerome turned to meet her gaze, he could see that she was lost in thought, back somewhere in time. She had told him of her encounters, not in detail, but she had mentioned the kiss six months ago. She hardly ever brought him up and he avoided doing so out of consideration for her. By the look on her face he was able to guess that she was standing on the peer, looking up at the fireworks display on that warm July evening. She had described the encounter as surreal to her and not just because of the morphine, but the kiss, having her lips covered with the mouth of a cannibal. The kiss had been soft, experimental, yes, but gentle. Passionate. But not her passion, the passion had come from _his_ lips. That was the most surreal part of the whole encounter. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had a gentle side to him that he had only shown to her.  
"I wonder if Annabelle saw it too?" she muttered softly to herself.  
"Saw what?" Jerome sat down next to her.  
His voice had shaken her out of her thoughts, she was a little fearful at first of mentioning his mother's name, fearful he might take it the wrong way. There was no look of offence on his face, however, and she decided to let the matter drop. She wasn't ready to go into it at the moment.  
"Nothing," she shook her head and looked down to her hands. "Are you almost ready to go? I'm sure they're waiting upstairs for you."  
Jerome looked to the stairs. "I'm sure they are, and I can imagine Uncle Luke standing there at the ready, camera in hand, already focused on the door." He returned to his briefcase and closed it up while saying, "Another role of film to add to the family album of shame."  
"This is a big thing for them, Jerome, they're very proud of you. All that hard work you've put into your studies has earned you a top spot among your peers. How many invitations go out to the Boston College English Convention?"  
"Too many." He said gruffly.  
He picked up a small black duffle bag from the floor in one hand and slid his briefcase off the desk with the other. Starling too was finished with packing and collected her things and followed him up to the ground floor of the cabin the family had retreated to for the winter.  
Just as he had said, Luke Harrington was already waiting for them, camera in hand, and immediately started to take pictures as they came up from the basement. Waiting at his side was his wife, Dana, and their four children, Mike, Sarah, Alex, and Anna. Jerome made it to the door quickly but half a role had already been spent. Starling laughed with delight at seeing him run for the door. His cousin, Sarah, grabbed hold of the door and kept him from passing to the outside.  
"You're not going anywhere," she took hold of the knob with both hands and shoved Jerome away from the door. "My poor antisocial Jerome has to get his photo taken."  
"I will get you in your sleep, you foul wench." He whispered to her.  
Sarah gave him a broad toothy smile and held the door tighter.  
"Oh, come now, Jerome. Let them take a picture of you," Starling called out to him from behind Dana.  
Jerome quickly reached for her and firmly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly close to him. "If I must be humiliated you shall join me, Clarice. Now smile for the camera."  
Luke was able to capture several snapshots of them in that position before Starling was able to break free. The pictures finally stopped when the role was gone and Luke had to reload.  
"It's not nearly as bad as it seems, Jerome." Luke shook his head. He turned to Starling and said, "He's always had an aversion to photographs."  
"I just have an aversion to be paraded around like a caged lion." Jerome shook his head.  
"I can't blame him, especially with all those vultures snooping around out there." Dana said and looked out the living room window. "It'll do him some good to be out of the house for a day or two. We can pack up here and then go back home for the weekend before the semester starts."  
"They're getting closer," Mike joined his mother and looked to the wooded area surrounding the house. "They were in town yesterday afternoon asking about us, I'm pretty sure that they know we're out here."  
"Well we couldn't keep it a secret forever," Luke sighed, slightly disappointed. "I love this home, I would hate to think that they could ever spoil our happy little getaway out here, but-" he took in a deep breath.  
"It won't be so bad," Sarah shook her head. "We might enjoy the attention. Besides, we know better to keep a tight lip."  
Luke winked at her, "That's my girl."  
"Clarice could always shoot them," Alex suggested in a bright and hopeful voice.  
They all laughed except for Alex and Anna who both thought it was a good idea.  
"Well, we should get going before they find us out here. It might give you guys more time if I leave now," Jerome suggested and looked to his watch. "Just in case they do find you here, I could be gone. It could always buy you some time by saying that you don't even know me, or where I am."  
"We're not going to hide from them," Dana shook her head and placed a loving and tender hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. "We aren't ashamed of who we are and we are very proud of you. We won't let them have the satisfaction of forcing us to hide, and you shouldn't hide either."  
Jerome smiled and hugged her first before bidding farewell to all of them. He would be joining them again for his last weekend at home before he headed back to school for the start of the new semester. Outside of the cabin he loaded his things into his two door blue Chevy Cavalier which was parked next to Starling's Mustang. Now came for the last good-by, for the time being at least.  
"They're going to miss you. They've become terribly fond of you." Jerome came over to her car and stood with her at the trunk of the car.  
"I'm going to miss them too, especially the little ones." Starling looked down to the gravel driveway that had a thin layer of snow on top. "They've invited me over for dinner, open invitation for whenever I'm in town."  
"I hope you'll take them up on it. I'll make sure to come home for that, being with the entire family and you."  
Starling smiled.  
"You're really are going to miss me, aren't you?"  
"I'm missing you already." He said softly.  
Without another word he gently bent down to kiss her softly on the cheek, it was their first kiss. It warmed the flesh of her cheek which had flushed with the feel of the cold New England wind, or possibly due to his mere presence. Starling wasn't sure but she was enjoying both.  
"I'm going to miss you too." She whispered to him while he was still close.  
They were now standing apart from each other, a comfortable distance that wasn't too far. Jerome then cleared his throat and moved closer to his car, he was going do his formal good-by now.  
"I'll write you, I have your e-mail address." He looked down to the snow covered gravel.  
"I'll write too. I'll be coming out to check on the security measures at your school. It will be more of a business visit, I'm afraid; I'll probably be bringing another agent with me."  
"Of course," he nodded. "You do have a job to do, I appreciate that." He nodded.  
"But I will make sure to cut out some time for the two of us," she said boldly, at this point not caring who heard her. Jerome smiled at her courage and met it with an invitation.  
"Certainly. Dinner and a show? I'll make sure to clear my class work for your arrival."  
"Absolutely." She nodded her head.  
Jerome nodded and moved closer to his car. They smiled to each other, neither wanting to actually say the words. And so they didn't. Starling was in her car first but was the last to pull out of the driveway. She had to painfully follow behind Jerome's Cavalier for three whole miles before they headed in opposite directions on the Massachusetts interstate highway.  
  
* * *  
  
The attendance had been slowly rising at the Venable Plaza Hotel. The lobbies on the ground and second floor were filled with students and instructors from Boston College for their annual English and Communications Department Convention. The ballroom housed over fifty round tables that could seat six easy all over the room. A podium was set on stage with two large tables set on either side facing out to the audience. One the right side of the stage was the Boston College flag and the national flag set on the far left side.  
It was an hour before the convention started with a noon lunch when Jerome Lecter pulled into the parking lot and was directed to a spot close to the back of the hotel. Upon entering the hotel lobby he was spotted by the English Department Chairman, Dr. Greg Anderson who rushed over to greet him.  
"Jerome, my dear boy, I was wondering when you would be getting here." They shook hands.  
"Combination of traffic and bad drivers held me up," Jerome shrugged. "Waiting long for me?"  
"Not at all, I just arrived myself. There's still a full hour before we start things off. I saw Matt, by the way, and John. They're waiting for you on the second floor in the lobby outside the ballroom."  
Jerome nodded to him and to a few of his other professors as he went upstairs. There gathered around a waist-high counter top were two young men and a young woman, all roughly Jerome's age, with their backs turned to away from the stairwell. Jerome paused and smiled at them before joining them.  
Matt Mallory was the first to notice him and greeted him with a warm and hearty handshake. "Jerome, good to see you. Another couple of minutes and Mary was ready to send up smoke signals for you." He smiled and led him over to join the group.  
Matt was a twenty-one year old English major with brown hair and eyes and a bright smile. He and Jerome had been friends since their early school years on Martha's Vineyard, their friendship was based on their common love for books and movies. From there they both built a common interest in sports, particularly golf and bowling.  
"Sorry gents, and Mary," he turned to the tall girl with long sandy- blond hair, she gave him a smile. "Traffic was terrible, not to mention the jackass in front of me nearly went head first into a phone pole."  
"I had a guy behind me that tailed me all the way here," Matt said with a slight laugh. "He nearly followed me right into the parking lot."  
Matt handed Jerome a tall glass of coke and a sugar packet and Jerome leaned in and instantly became one of the group.  
"Did I miss anything important?" he looked around the group.  
"Not at all," the girl shook her head. "John's just giving us his views on romance."  
Mary Barrett was the second youngest in the group, almost six feet with long flowing sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. She was the only one in the group who was not an English or Communications major. She had been invited to the convention because of her award winning short stories she contributed to the school's newspaper and writing contests. She had always loved reading but loved to write her own stories all the more. While she took many English classes with the others, she was more interesting in History. Both Jerome and Matt had been able to convince her to select English as her minor.  
"Wonderful," Jerome nodded his head and took a step back from them. "I'll just go talk to Dr. Anderson about all the renovations being done to his office, after I remove my brain through my ears first, of course." He rolled his eyes.  
Matt and Mary laughed and the other young man gave Jerome a slight smile.  
"Actually, Jerome, we were discussing our love lives and your _lack_ of a love life." The other said teasingly. "We're very worried about you, Jerome."  
"Oh?" Jerome raised an eyebrow and took the sugar packet Matt had given him and poured it into his coke before drinking it.  
"Yes, _very_ concerned." Mary added with a slight giggle.  
"Just because I haven't dated anyone since last year," Jerome shook his head.  
"Try our senior year," the young man corrected.  
John Devlin had been friends with Matt since their kindergarten days and the CCD classes they took together at their parish where they had met Jerome the following year. The three boys formed and instant and tight friendship that grew even tighter as the years went on. They forged their strongest bond over their common love of good books and good movies, many of which they read and saw together. John was over six foot with curly brown hair and dark eyes. He was majoring in theater with the hopes of being an actor; he was also working on a novel which he had been inspired to write by his vast collection of fantasy and science fiction books and magazines he had in his private library. A library which was ever expanding and becoming larger and larger every time he passed by a bookstore, often he went with Jerome who had a way of convincing him to add another book. Jerome often teased John that his library would become as extensive as his own one of these days.  
"Senior year?" Jerome paused and shook his head. "That's an awful long time."  
"It sure is," Mary nodded.  
"I think we need to help you find a girl," Matt said turning to face the students who were heading inside the ballroom behind them. "Question is, with whom?"  
"Don't you guys have anything better to do than to play matchmaker?" Jerome took his drink and headed for a wingback chair next to the stairs. Matt and John followed him while Mary excused herself to freshen her drink in the ballroom.  
"Do we have anything better to do?" Matt looked over to John who shook his head. "No, no we don't."  
"Not until next week of course when classes start again," John yawned and sat down in the wingback chair next to Jerome. Matt sat in the chair on Jerome's other side.  
"It's a shame they put this blasted thing together now, so close to the new semester and all." Matt looked around with a sneer.  
"Why? Didn't want to see us until class?" John asked with a smile.  
"I don't mind you guys at all, I've actually missed you if you can believe it," Matt shook his head.  
"We don't." Jerome assured him.  
"But I just didn't want to see some of these other people, especially the instructors, until next week."  
"You could have stayed home." John shrugged.  
"You're kidding right?" Matt laughed. "My mother wouldn't allow me to miss this. She practically shoved me in the car."  
"You could have fought back." Jerome said flatly.  
"I could have," Matt agreed. "But then I wouldn't get to see you guys."  
"Sure," John nodded warily. "What he really means, Jerome, is that he wouldn't have been able to see _her_."  
Jerome furrowed his brows for a second and then suddenly remembered the girl Matt had met right before Christmas.  
"Ah, yes. Have you seen her yet?" Jerome leaned in closer to Matt.  
"Who do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about." He then quickly drank his coke to keep himself from talking.  
"I think I did see her in the parking lot when I was coming up," John winked at Jerome who stifled a smile. Matt coughed slightly on his drink and leaned his head back on the chair and gave a slight, uninterested nod.  
"Did you send her a card for Christmas, Matt?" Jerome prodded. "Send her a special holiday greeting?"  
"Alright, that's enough you two. First we were picking on Jerome's love life, now you're picking on mine?"  
"We didn't know you had a love life we could pick on," John leaned forward with a silly grin on his face.  
"I wouldn't tell you anything even if I did." Matt shook his head and looked to Jerome. "None of you."  
"Don't trust us, do you?"  
"Nope. And not that it's any of your business, or anything, but it just so happens that she is _not_ an English or Communications major. So she wouldn't be here at all." The three of them fell silent for a moment. Matt shook his head and stirred the ice in his glass with his finger then cleared his throat. "So who _was_ the last person you dated, Jerome?"  
"Back to me all ready?" he sighed and slumped in his chair. "Well, I too am taking the Fifth Amendment and not saying a bloody thing to either of you."  
"How would you like a date next week?" Mary asked crossing the lobby to join them.  
Jerome lifted his head curiously towards her.  
"What would you say if I told you I could arrange it for you to escort two lovely girls to the movies next Thursday night?" she wagged her eyebrows slightly.  
"You're sick." Jerome muttered and shook his head. "No, no thank you. I shall arrange and schedule my own romantic outings if you please."  
Matt then shot him a suspicious glance and looked over to John who gave the same look.  
Matt leaned in closer to Jerome and said, "You're found someone, haven't you?"  
Jerome stared back at him in disbelief. Matt looked harder at him and then nodded.  
"You _did_ find someone. Who is she?"  
"No one that you know," Jerome said slowly. "And I am certainly not going to talk about her when she's not here. Not like some people I know," he gave them a smile and reclined in the chair.  
"We weren't talking about you the whole time," Mary said defensively. "There are more interesting things to talk about."  
"The wall paper for one," John quipped.  
Jerome smiled and yawned.  
"Who's presenting first?" Matt asked.  
"Lord knows," John shrugged. "I know they shifted some things around to make more time for the essay presentations. That's what I heard anyway."  
"They cut down on the time for poetry and short stories," Mary sat down next to Matt. "They cut the questions segment entirely."  
"I had a good question for you too," Jerome winked at her.  
"It's not that stupid question about inspiration is it?"  
"Not at all," he said softly. "I assure you it's ten times more embarrassing."  
John laughed and stretched his legs. "Sitting here waiting for this thing to start feels like waiting for Armageddon."  
Matt furrowed his brows, "Where the hell did that come from? How can you compare the B. C. English Convention to the end of the world?"  
"It was a gut reaction." John smiled. "But that's just how I feel at the moment. I also feel like we are in the presence of evil. Does anyone here think we shall see the Anti-Christ in our own lifetime?"  
The three of them turned to look at Jerome who rolled his eyes. "The 'D' stands for 'Dante' _not_ 'Damien.'"  
"According to Ira Levin, the Anti-Christ's name is Adrian." Mary said.  
"Andrew." Jerome corrected her. "In the book, it's Andrew John Woodhouse. _Rosemary's Baby_ is much more interesting than _The Omen_."  
"You read too much." Matt shook his head.  
"He should, there's nothing wrong with that," a voice came from behind them at the stairwell. "Nothing wrong with reading a lot."  
Matt turned around and stood up when Dr. Susan Kennedy approached the group. Jerome and John followed Matt's lead and stood up to greet her. Mary turned to smile at her but went back to nursing her coke.  
"Good evening, gentlemen." She shook their hands. "I trust you are all staying out of trouble."  
"Indeed we are," Matt nodded. "Except for Jerome, of course. He's been nothing but trouble since he got here."  
Jerome gave them a bright smile and winked to John who chuckled slightly.  
"I know Mr. Lecter is a bright and kindly gentleman," she paused thoughtfully. "And yet, somehow, I actually believe that he _is_ the type who finds trouble easily."  
The five of them laughed heartily and she bid them a temporary farewell and her best wishes for their presentations later that afternoon. John, Matt and Jerome returned to their seats and settled silently before starting a new topic.  
Mary was the first to break the comfortable silence when she began looking around the lobby and to the clusters of students and instructors searching for the only missing member of their group and then turning back to the others. "Where's Mark?"  
"Mark?" Matt said looking around, curious himself as to the whereabouts of their fifth clansmen might be. "I do no know."  
"I didn't see him when I arrived," John shook his head. "And he always gets here before I do."  
"Strange." Jerome said putting down his drink and looking around. "I know he was coming, he's been asked to take photographs and write an article on the convention for the school paper."  
As if on cue, Mark Allen appeared at the stairwell coming up from the ground lobby. He was dressed richly in a dark suit with blood red tie, an obvious way of making him stand out amongst the sea of blue and black suits and ties that surrounded him. Jerome involuntarily clucked his tongue, disapproving of his friends' vanity.  
Mark was the youngest of the group, an ambitious young man who pushed himself to become a rather distinguished freshman, the only freshman to have been invited to the convention which was held only to honor second year students and upper classmen. Mark was hardworking, respectable, but extremely arrogant. Jerome liked the young man, enjoyed his quick wit and sharp mind, in many ways the first year Journalism student reminded him of a younger version of himself; although Jerome had been more respectable and humble at the age of 19. Mark had become a member of the group after befriending John, who was also his roommate, and impressing the others with his smooth and well-written articles for the Boston College newspaper.  
"About time you showed up, Mark." John called to him from his chair, coke in hand and en route towards his dry mouth.  
"Traffic." Mark said as he briskly crossed the lobby to join his friends, smiling and shaking hands all around.  
"Nope, sorry. Jerome all ready used that excuse. You'll have to think of something better." Matt smiled as he shook his hand.  
"A truth is hardly an excuse." Mark smirked. "Especially when it's." he looked to Jerome for help.  
"True?" Jerome raised an eyebrow.  
Mark snapped his finger and pointed at him. "Precisely, it's the gospel truth that I was late and so here I am, a full twenty minutes before show time and I don't have a drink." He looked at Mary expectantly.  
Mary was far too much comfortable in her chair and pointed to the ballroom. "In there."  
Mark drooped his mouth as if he were a hurt puppy dog, "You're going to make me get my own drink? After I've been sitting in traffic for the last half-hour?"  
Mary took a deep and refreshing gulp of her drink and brought it away from her lips. She let out a loud sound of relief before she replied, "Yep."  
Mark turned to the others. "Guys? Sympathy?"  
"For the devil?" Matt quipped.  
"I know that tune." John raised his finger. "Heard it on the radio once."  
"I have the album." Jerome chimed in quickly. "_Rolling Stones_, can't beat Mick."  
"I like the four apostles better." Mary shrugged. "Paul, John, George, and Ringo."  
"All right," Mark rolled his eyes. "I'll go get it myself. No one else wants anything, _do they?_" he added sarcastically.  
"Cheese burger!" Jerome said and looked over to Matt. "Pickles on yours?"  
"Right," Matt nodded. "No onions. Mary?"  
"Million dollars, small non-sequential bills. Plain brown bag, you know the drill." She waived her hand dismissively.  
"The entire world under my control, thank you." John said and leaned back in the chair.  
"Don't you already rule the underworld?" Mary snorted.  
"Which realm?" Jerome asked with a smile.  
"Neither." John shook his head. "Heaven wouldn't take me and Hell's afraid I'd take over."  
The four of them laughed heartily.  
"I believe you were just wondering who the Anti-Christ was," Jerome gestured to John quickly with his head.  
Mark turned and headed into the dinning room while muttering something inaudible against his friends.  
"I love torturing that guy," Mary giggled.  
"Easy target." John said.  
"Too easy." Mary agreed.  
"Did you guys hear they invited someone from Oxford to join us today?" Matt asked changing the subject.  
"Eh?" John sat up slightly with interest.  
Matt nodded his head, "A new English professor if I'm not mistaken."  
"Did you get his name?" Mary asked.  
"No," Matt shook his head.  
"Is he replacing Dr. Hollaran?" Jerome leaned towards his best friend. "I heard that she's taking the semester off for maternity."  
"I think it's a little more permanent than that." Matt shook his head. "I think they're looking for someone to award tenure."  
"He must be pretty damn good." John whistled through his teeth slightly.  
"Makes you wonder though," Jerome said thoughtfully. "Why would anyone leave such a prominent school, such as Oxford, to come and teach at Boston? There _are_ better schools to teach at, certainly with better English Departments."  
"I don't know," Matt shrugged. "I heard something that he was originally from the area, maybe a little farther south and he just wanted to come back to the states."  
"He supposed to be here? At the convention?" Mary asked.  
Matt nodded, "I think he's here to give a formal interview, as well as take a look at what is expected of the professors here."  
"I hope we get a chance to meet him." Jerome sat back in his chair, deep in thought.  
"Meet who? What are we talking about?" Mark asked coming back over to join them. "Lunch is ready to be served; people are starting to file in."  
"We were just talking about the new professor, the one from Oxford." John said standing from his chair and stretched a bit.  
"Dr. Morrison." Mark nodded.  
"You've heard then?" Matt asked as the group moved towards the ballroom.  
"He came in last night from London," Mark nodded. "I'm to take pictures of him and Dr. Anderson later the afternoon. He's giving his formal interview."  
"Sounds like they've already handed him the position," Jerome chuckled. "What shall he be teaching, I wonder?" he added in a mock British accent.  
"Probably British works," Mary matched his tone and British imitation. "Things that are right up your ally I would imagine."  
Jerome gave her a playful nudge as they entered into the ballroom. They had previously arranged with Dr. Anderson that they would sit together at lunch and dinner and found their table with their names printed on a small rectangle of stationary at their seats towards the middle of the room. John took the plastic card from the center of the table and presented it proudly to Jerome.  
"I believe this to be your lucky number, sir."  
Jerome took the card and smiled down at the large number 13 and returned it to its proper place setting.  
They greeted those around them that they knew, waited for their table to be served lunch, a fresh Caesar salad and variety of sandwiches followed by an assortment of cookies for dessert. As their meal was winding down, their conversation switched back to their interest in the mysterious professor from England.  
"We certainly do need another anglophile in these parts. It's exhausting to carry the work with just Jerome and myself." John added dryly.  
"If he was an anglophile he would still be in England," Matt said. "Why would he be coming to work here?"  
"What do they call people who are fanatical about the United States?" Mark asked.  
"Nit-wits." John replied quickly.  
  
* * *  
  
Dr. Hannibal Lecter, at the moment Dr. Ivan Morrison, sat at the head table near the front of the stage; a welcome guest among the English and Communications Department faculty. Dr. Anderson introduced him to the group of teachers as if he were an amateur hunter presenting his first ten-point buck fresh from the kill. Dr. Lecter hadn't felt as if he were being put on display like this since his transfer from the Baltimore dungeon to his temporary confinement in Memphis. The tone in Anderson's voice as he made the introduction rang so close to the tone in Dr. Fredrick Chilton's voice as he was introduced to Senator Ruth Martin. Dr. Lecter felt like taking hold of Dr. Anderson's vocal chords and dragging the man off to an unimaginable horrible fate, just like he had done to Dr. Chilton so many years ago.  
Dr. Lecter stifled the feeling with a deep breath and smiled pleasantly as he shook each of the instructors' hands and took a seat among them, careful to keep his left hand from sight.  
It was Dr. Kennedy who was the first to engage him in conversation, "Greg has been kind enough to show us some of your work, including your doctorial thesis on the character of Falstaff from Shakespeare's _Henry IV_ and _Henry V_. Quite interesting material."  
"Thank you," Dr. Lecter gave her a bright and toothy smile. "Did you enjoy it?"  
"Very much," she nodded. "But not as much as your recent works on the great betrayers of literature which, even more interestingly, include King Henry himself. Although I gathered from your thesis paper that Falstaff is one of your favorite characters."  
"Indeed, he is."  
Dr. Lecter couldn't stand Falstaff. He was a bumbling and drunken fool, nothing more than ill mannered lush who had clung to young Hal's tailcoat in the hopes that he would be remembered when Hal finally took his father's thrown. He had laughed giddily when he read of Falstaff's death in _Henry V_ back when he was in school. He could recall the strange looks he received from his instructor and fellow classmates when he had first read the play in class, he couldn't help but laugh at the lush's death. He was overjoyed by the ancient tavern rat's death.  
Had Dr. Lecter known of all of Dr. Morrison's works before he had taken his identity, he might have had second thoughts about killing him in London.  
"A very sympathetic and complex character." Dr. Lecter added in his soothing and rich voice.  
"He is an interesting character," Dr. Kennedy agreed.  
"I never liked him," the professor sitting to Dr. Lecter's left had spoken bluntly. "Lush." She added harshly.  
Dr. Lecter gave her a polite smile, he suddenly remember how much he hated being around college professors. Too many minds at work and conflicting views. Dr. Lecter kept quiet through the rest of lunch, listening politely to others and answering the questions put to him, the way that Dr. _Morrison_ would have answered them. But his mind was elsewhere.  
Since Dr. Lecter had come down stairs to join to convention and meet Dr. Anderson in person, he had been playing a game with himself. Searching through the crowds of faces of the young and bright minds, he was looking for the face of his son. He wondered if he would recognize him just on looks alone. Would his own son look more like him or his beloved mother? Somewhere during the meal, his body operations took over in full to appear as if he were still very much apart of the convention going on around him, but his mind was wondering through the halls of his mind palace.  
Past the rooms of artwork and the studies full of his files and favorite books, deep inside the room he hardly entered anymore. It was a corner room, still well cared for, but otherwise untouched. Opening the door he was met with the brilliant white smile of his deceased wife, Annabelle. Her beauty and warmth had been forever preserved in the form of a portrait painted with great care in the finest oil paints. He had tried to resurrect her once, returning all of her soul and energy to a form of flesh and blood within this room, but failed. Her body had quickly withered to the cold and stiff body she had been the last time he had laid eyes upon his beloved wife. The last time he had touched her as she laid in that Godforsaken casket. It was too painful for him to see the metamorphosis from a happy, vibrant woman, a mother-to-be in the delivery room who used all her might and energy to bring a new life into this world and then turn into a weak and withered body the next. She had gasped in her last moments alive, reached for her husband who had never left her side and begged him, not for her life but to see him just once more.  
She then asked for their son, to gaze down at the perfect combination of mother and father that they had created together in love. She was so weak she couldn't even hold him, only look at him through glassy eyes and heavy eyelids, and then they closed for the last time. She was gone. She hadn't even had enough time to say anything about their son. He was sure that she was happy, but he wasn't sure if she was even able to see him, to know that he was there.  
Now he stood before her portrait. Her youth and beauty forever preserved in the large framed canvas that covered the wall in this private study. Here he kept his most cherished memories, the memories of his wife and his son. Everything he had on them, every moment he had spent with the both of them, was stored right here in this room.  
He cocked his head slightly to the left and leaned forward towards the portrait and then came back to leaned on his heels. _Blue or green eyes?_ he asked himself. He looked deeply into his wife's eyes, those brilliant green eyes, and wondered if their son had the same shade of green eyes as his mother. _Tall?_ was his next question. He had always hoped that his son would be tall, he wasn't exactly sure why. He wasn't a very tall man himself, nor his ancestors. Annabelle, however, had a whole family full of tall men and women. He could easily recall that his son did inherit his father's dark hair, as an infant his head had been covered with scattered wisps of jet black hair. _My son,_ he took the thought in deeply. _My son whom I have not seen in nineteen years, nineteen very_ long _years. My son, named after his mother's favorite saint and my favorite poet. Jerome Dante- _  
"Lecter?"  
The mentioning of his name broke his concentration and brought him out of his mind palace to the dining table. In his mind's absence, his body had taken control and was conscious enough to light one of his miniature cigars, one his many activities he had programmed his body to do to make it appear that he was still very much conscious of the things around him while his mind was elsewhere. When his mind did regain control of his body, he took a drag of his cigar and gave his full concentration to the conversation. Someone had mentioned his name.  
"Yes, I did see him." Anderson was nodding and talking to the professor sitting across from him and to the left of Dr. Kennedy.  
"I saw him as well. He's with the others of course. They are inseparable." Kennedy laughed delightfully. "Every time I've had them in class, the first day they find a place where they can all sit together and they never move from those seats for the rest of the semester."  
_Others?_ Dr. Lecter was curious.  
"Any idea where they're sitting?" one of the professors asked.  
"Somewhere in the middle," Anderson looked to the other side of the room. "I thought I saw them as they were coming in."  
Dr. Lecter moved his head to look in the direction Anderson had gestured. He scanned the faces quickly but none of them struck him as familiar. _He must have his back turned away from me,_ he concluded and turned back to his group with a polite smile.  
"I know Matt and John are going to be discussing the theater, specifically giving us a preview of what is to come for this season. And Jerome's here for his essay on Dante, something on the betrayers." Kennedy turned to Dr. Lecter and gave him a smile. "Something right up your alley, Dr. Morrison."  
"I should say so," he nodded. "A student of yours?"  
"One of my best," Kennedy nodded proudly. "Very bright, he's always been a pleasure to have in class. Always full of ideas and fresh interpretations."  
"I'll say," Anderson laughed. "He once wrote a paper for me giving one of the most original and interesting interpretations of the ending of _One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest_ I have ever read."  
"He sounds like quite the young man," Dr. Lecter chose his words carefully. "I'd be very interesting in meeting him."  
"You should meet him," the professor sitting next to him said firmly. "To come all this way and not meet Jerome Lecter would be a pity."  
Dr. Lecter smiled, if one were paying close attention they could see the spark of paternal pride that quickly flashed in his eyes and then vanished.  
  
* * *  
  
Thank you again to Mike, Mike, Dell, and Carla for allowing me to use you guys as inspirations for the characters met in this chapter. I think it would be a sin if I did not give Jerome a group of friends who are just as kind, caring and understanding to him as you. Not to mention just as funny and interesting. And who better to use for inspiration than the four of you who have influenced me in more ways than one? You guys are truly the best.  
  
Thank you as well to all my readers and reviewers, please do continue to send along your words of encouragement and kindness. Honest reviews also welcome. Coming up in the next chapter: "Meeting of the Minds." Introductions are exchanged between Clarice Starling and Will Graham as the hunt for Dr. Lecter continues; meanwhile, Dr. Morrison and Jerome meet face to face for the "first" time. Until then, ta-ta. 


End file.
